


Gracious Goes the Ghost of You

by haloeverlasting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Depressed Louis, Drug Abuse Mention, Ghost Harry, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I swear I'm not a total demon lol, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Death, Recovery, afterlife mentions, and though the ending is ambiguous it is still hopeful so I wouldn't let that scare you too much, but I Promise you that all death takes place before the start of this fic, death mentions, it's just a lot okay i'm sorry, overdose mention, that sounds terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:19:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloeverlasting/pseuds/haloeverlasting
Summary: And there it was again. That heaviness, that shift in the air that makes everything feel just a little slower. It’s like just moving forward makes him sore from the exertion. It’s not in the least physical, it’s his heart and mind and soul that feels stretched and pushed too far. It’s those moments, where his heart feels like it’s thudding only because it still can, that Louis feels the itch to glance at the clock. When he aches to know how long it’s been and maybe a part of him is wondering how long it will be. If this time, when he checks the clock, he’ll feel the same shame for his long stint of grief, but it will be followed by some sort of pride. He’s made it this far, and “because it still can” is a perfectly good reason for his heart to keep beating.“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks.Louis hums, shifting a little to rest his head on top of Harry’s. “Is this your new question?"“Yeah,” he whispers, softly.“Just… thinking about how long it’s been. And how long it may be before it doesn’t hurt so much anymore."Harry is a ghost who comes to visit. Louis feels like a ghost, himself. In forgiveness, they find their way back to life.





	Gracious Goes the Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. :) 
> 
> This story was inspired by Harry Style's Meet Me in the Hallway as a part of the [Pink Album Challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ThePinkAlbum), and I am very excited to share it with you. It's not always an easy read, just as it's inspiration is not always easy to listen to, but I do hope you'll enjoy it all the same. Please check the tags for triggers, and if you have any major concerns, feel free to come talk to me on [tumblr](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Thank you to so many people. Thank you to everyone in my writer's group chat (aka the Daddy chat lmao) for encouraging me to write this even though it was hard. Special thanks to [KK](http://dinosaursmate.tumblr.com) for screaming and for your endless encouragement and support, [Addy](http://tvshows-addict.tumblr.com) and [Jacky](http://dimpled-halo.tumblr.com) for all your thorough and thoughtful notes and beta work. And [Della](iamasphodelknox.tumblr.com) for your invaluable input, beta work, and cheerleading. 
> 
> I love you all so very much.

It’s been six months. Six months and three days and… eight hours? Maybe nine. Louis can’t quite tell where the hour hand is on the clock. It rests on his bedside table, and his bleary eyes are begging him to stop caring. No amount of time will make it easier. He keeps thinking that if he just acknowledges it, then maybe it’ll be enough to snap him out of it. 

All it’s really done is make him miserably aware of two things: how much time has passed, and how quickly everyone else has moved on. Both of these come to light when someone asks him how he’s doing. He can’t help the mild offense he feels when someone who asked so sincerely at month three, sounds almost irritated now. 

Still, he can’t blame anyone for thinking he should be over this. Not when every glance at the clock is another reminder that this hour and the last four thousand have felt exactly the same. 

Six months three days and… nine hours ago he found his best friend in her room. It had been years since she slept in past nine in the morning, and he found her keys on the hook, and her door shut well past eleven. He thought that was the only thing amiss. Another long night, another high, this one finally enough to wipe her out for more than a few hours. He never imagined he’d find what he did behind her bedroom door.  

The feeling still passes through him each and every time he walks down that hall. Her old bedroom door is closed. The things that inhabited it are now long gone. Her family took no time at all to invade their space and make a treasure hunt of her room. 

Louis had felt sick at the prospect of her room being empty—of their flat officially housing only one. 

And now it’s been six months, and he couldn’t have been more wrong. Their flat isn’t empty at all. It’s filled to the brim—with Louis’ grief, with his anxiety, with the ghost of something else. 

  
The first few weeks, Louis had stayed in his room. He ignored his calls and avoided leaving his bed until he wasn’t sure he’d even make it to the bathroom. It was like she hadn’t even left. Louis wasn’t totally convinced they’d taken her body away. A part of him was certain that she was here, that she would open his door and lean against the frame like she used to and tell him to get his shit together. Louis knows this is common for people who have found a loved one like that. He understands that this paranoia and the fear that something terrible rests just around every corner isn’t really going to go away. 

What others don’t seem to understand is that Louis didn’t find his best friend in her bedroom. He found a body. A body that she stopped inhabiting a long time ago. 

He tried to tell Liam once. The way it felt like something in his flat was trying to eat him alive. The way his skin crawled all the time, and how he shivered when he accidentally touched the door knob. Liam had compared it to being a kid and running down the hall to your room as soon as the light was off. Louis knew he hadn’t meant to sound condescending, but it did. 

So he stopped trying to explain why he never really felt alone in his flat and decided to just avoid it. 

Now, his grief looks like walking the neighborhood as soon as it gets dark. It looks like considering having a sleep on a park bench because he feels safer there than he does at home. It’s carrying a brown paper sack with him and avoiding eye contact as the various cars drive slowly through the residential areas.

And yeah, when he gets home much later, he does move very quickly to his room the moment the light is off. He thinks of Liam every time, and promptly checks again for the exact amount of time that’s passed. 

Each and every night passes in a haze, and Louis’ tried his very best to ignore the ache in his bones, and the chill in his spine every time he walks through his hallway. 

That is, until it requests his attention. 

A night like any other, a beer and a half in, Louis makes his way to the light switch by his front door with heavy eyes, and braces himself for the dreaded trip down the hall to his room. He flips the switch and sets off at a jog. He hates the urgency. He hates how this part of the night fills him with self loathing. How he just can’t face her room. How he hasn’t opened that door since she and all her things left it. He blinks hard, and turns the corner of the hallway quickly. That’s when he feels a brush of something on his arm. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” he cries, bolting to his bedroom. He slams the door shut behind him and leans back against it, breathing heavily. “What the fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the  _ fuck _ .” 

He’s fine. It’s all fine. He’s  _ fine _ . His imagination is just playing tricks on him. 

Then there’s a light knock on the door. 

His imagination has never been this vivid. It’s been cruel and wild, but never so fucking  _ real _ . Louis can feel his breathing speed up, and if he doesn’t get it together he’s worried he’s going to start hyperventilating. 

He’s fine. No one is here. No one possibly  _ could _ be. He just needs to sleep. He needs to sleep, and he needs to wake up and force himself to eat some vegetables. He has to do something,  _ anything _ to make this stop. He can’t live like this anymore. 

And then there’s another knock on his door. 

Louis takes a shaky breath in, turning around and facing his closed door. He pinches his arm, wondering if this is a nightmare. Wondering if he’ll wake up covered in a sheen of sweat in the living room with tears running down his face. It’s happened before. 

If it is? He knows exactly how to put an end to it. He has to open the door. 

His hands are shaking as he grips the doorknob and he squeezes it tight. 

He turns it slowly, bracing himself for a dreaded moment. The moment where a face he misses so fucking much simultaneously destroys him. He can’t bear it. But it’s the only way to wake up. So he turns it until it won’t anymore and when he pulls the door towards him, he shuts his eyes. 

He exhales, and opens his eyes, only to find a stranger standing outside of his bedroom. 

“What the  _ fuck! _ ” Louis screams, slamming the door once more.  

He’s alarmed enough as it is. He has no idea how someone would’ve gotten into his flat, and his imagination really isn’t  _ that _ good. And then there’s another knock on his door and a deep, calm voice speaking to him from the other side. 

“Can you really see me?” The man asks. 

What the  _ fuck _ . 

“Excuse me? Can you hear me?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Louis shrieks, voice cracking from disuse. 

“Oh, damn. You can hear me. Okay. Um, well, stay calm. I, erm. I come in peace.” 

Louis actually laughs. The sound feels foreign and strange to his own ears, never mind how it’s coated in hysteria. “What do you want?” 

“Well, um. That’s a complicated question, innit?” 

“What do you want from  _ me _ ?” Louis clarifies. He can’t believe this is happening. How is there someone in his flat? Why is he engaging in conversation with him? Why the fuck doesn’t he steal his TV and go? 

“Can you just open the door? I’m really sorry to have scared you.” 

How does this guy sound so  _ calm _ ? Is he a sociopath? What if he’s not here for Louis’ TV at all and he’s actually hear to commit murder? Has he been following Louis? 

Louis hadn’t registered the tears in his eyes until now. Hadn’t noticed the way he’d slid down the door to the floor with his knees pulled close to his chest. He’s so scared. He’s felt unsafe in his own home for weeks but he hadn’t had any  _ real _ reason until now. And of course when he gets an intruder he’s fucking calm and doesn’t just off Louis to get it over with. 

“Hello? Are you there?” 

Louis doesn’t answer. 

“I really need you to open the door, mate. I’m sorry I scared you. Let’s chat, okay?” 

Louis rests his head back and tries to calm down. He feels so timid and  _ weak _ . 

“Look. Here’s how this is going to go, okay? Do whatever you want. I’m gonna lie down and if you could just wait like an hour? And off me once I’m asleep?” 

" _ What?”  _ he asks, bewilderment clear, even through the thick door. 

“I mean it—” 

“I don’t want to  _ kill _ you, mate. Just let me in, okay? Let’s talk about this. I’ll tell you how I got in.” 

Louis stands up and wipes at his eyes. Does this guy want to give some sort of speech first? Reveal his evil master plan before it’s been carried out to completion like a super villain? The world is fucked. Louis’ life is fucked and he’s scared as fuck but he also just can’t believe that any of this happening. 

“Alright. Fine. Come in, then.” 

“Oh, can you um. Can you open the door for me?” 

“Why can’t you open it yourself?” 

“Well, I can, it’s just sort of difficult. It’d be best if you just—” 

“Okay, fine, whatever.”  Louis shuffles to the door, frustrated, to swing it open. Once it is, Louis takes a look at his intruder, sizing him up,  standing with his legs apart, arms crossed, trying to appear far more in control of himself than he is. And really, once he’s taken the stranger in, he realizes he’s not that scary at all. In fact,  _ he _ looks scared. 

“I’m really sorry,” he starts. 

“Who are you.” Louis isn’t asking. 

“Oh, erm. I’m Harry.” he says, waving awkwardly from the hallway. 

“And what do you want, Harry?” Louis asks, posture loosening. “Why are you here?” 

“That’s actually quite complicated. I’d rather we started with some introductory questions.” Harry punctuates with a short shrug of his shoulders, “Maybe a friendly game of two truths and a lie?”

Louis chuckles, again, noting how odd the sound is coming from his mouth. “You’re really not good at this home intruder thing are you? That or you’re brilliant at it and this is part of your distraction method.” 

Harry actually grins at that, a dimple appearing first in his left cheek, then his right. He’s devilishly handsome, and that’s perhaps  _ exactly _ how he gets away with his crimes. 

“Can I, erm, come in?” Harry asks, gesturing to the floor of Louis’ bedroom. 

“Are you going to murder me?” Louis asks. 

“Absolutely not,” Harry insists. Is he really  _ offended _ ? He seems to be. “Though, I’m concerned that you were so willing to allow that.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, “Whatever, yeah, come in.” 

Harry does, and Louis shuts the door behind him. Still wary of the hallway outside. When he turns, he finds that Harry is missing. 

“Okay, what the fuck.” Louis says, eyes wide. “Where did you go?” 

No answer. 

“Seriously, Harry—if that is your  _ real _ name. If you wanted to kill me you should’ve just said. This is  _ not _ okay.” 

And then there’s another knock on the door. 

Louis hates the tremors in his hands. Hates that he can’t just calm the fuck down. 

He opens the door again and finds Harry, with an apologetic smile on his face. Louis gapes at him in response.

“I think maybe we should just meet out here,” Harry says. 

“How did you even  _ do _ that?” 

Harry nods and takes a few steps back, taking a seat on the floor. “Have a seat and I’ll explain.”

Louis frowns. “What here? In the hall?” 

“Mhm,” Harry confirms, tapping the spot on the floor in front of him. 

“Could we just sit in the living room? I don’t think—” 

“I’m sorry, Lou. I think you should just sit here with me.” Harry’s eyes are wide and sympathetic. 

Something about it is  _ extremely _ unsettling. How his words imply that he understands. That he just knows that the hallway is the last place Louis wants to be. 

“Wait, how the hell do you know my name?” 

Harry scrunches his nose and sighs. “I’ll explain everything I can if you just sit with me.” 

Louis’ heart pounds against his chest. Everything about this is terrifying. The way the air around him feels electric, and how this complete stranger is peering up at him with concern in his eyes, and the way Louis inexplicably  _ trusts  _ him. Enough to take a few steps out of his bedroom and sit on the floor across from him. 

“Excellent. Thank you.” Harry says, folding his hands together and letting them rest on top of his folded legs. 

“What’s going on here?” Louis asks, surprised by how evenly it comes out. “Who are you and how did you get in here, and  _ why _ ? Why are you here and how do you know my name?”

“I was going to tell you to sit down, but you already are,” Harry says, huffing a laugh. He unfolds his hands and places one in his hair, pushing the curls back and exhaling. “Okay, what I’m about to tell you may seem a little unbelievable.” 

“More unbelievable than what’s happened already? How did you get out of my room so  _ fast _ I was right by the door!” 

Louis just has so many questions, and he has a feeling whatever Harry says next will answer all of them. He can feel the weight of the truth from where he sits, nervous to see if it crushes him once it leaves Harry’s lips. 

“Well. I’m a ghost.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything right away. He’d been expecting something dark and gruesome. That Harry was a stalker sent by someone to put him out of his misery or something. Instead what Harry says leaves Louis squinting his eyes, leaning forward slightly over his legs, folded underneath him. 

“You’re a… what?” 

Louis can see Harry’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “A ghost.” 

“I don’t… I don’t get it.” Louis says. 

“I know, it’s a lot to take in,” Harry assures him. “You’ve been through a lot.” 

“How the fuck do you  _ know  _ that?” Louis asks, patience wearing thin. “And what do you mean you’re a ghost? Is that the name of your fucking gang or something?” 

“I knew you were taking this too well.” Harry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not in a gang. I haven’t been following you. I’m really a ghost and I just showed up here.” 

“When?” 

“About six months ago?” Harry says, with a knowing glance. 

Louis feels sick. He can’t believe he trusted this piece of scum for even a second. This has to be a joke, and it’s not fucking funny. 

Louis stands up feeling rigid and cold. “You’re a piece of shit. Get out of my flat.” 

“Lou, wait—” 

“ _ Don’t _ call me that and get  _ out _ . Or I’m calling the police.” Louis says, storming to his room. He slams the door shut behind him and searches for his phone. He knows it’s somewhere, probably in the mess of blankets around his bed. 

“Louis!” Harry calls from the hall. “Louis, please let me explain more.” 

“I’m calling the police!” Louis yells, searching frantically through his blankets on the floor for his phone. 

“Look, I’ll prove it to you!” Harry says, “Look at the door!” 

“I’m calling the police you fucking psycho!” Louis calls. 

“No you’re not,” Harry says, his words filled with annoyance. 

“Yes, I am!” Louis insists, petulant. 

“Louis, you left your  phone in the living room. I know you haven’t found it yet.” 

“What the  _ fuck _ do you want from me?” Louis says, unable to disguise the helplessness that’s taken over his mind and body. His tremors are back and he sits with his back against the bed frame. He just wants to wake up from this fucked up dream. 

“I’m coming in, okay?” Harry says. “Just… brace yourself. I’m going to show you I’m not lying.” 

“What are you going to—” Louis doesn’t finish his sentence, instead gaping with his mouth wide open at the door, as Harry effortlessly walks through it. 

“Believe me now?” Harry asks. 

He stares at Louis expectantly, but Louis can’t find a single word to say. 

“Look, are you going to say something? I don’t have long before you’ll have to—” 

And suddenly Harry’s gone. Vanished before Louis’ very eyes. 

Louis stands again, pushing his blankets to the side and approaching the door. He knows in his gut what he’s about to find. Has a feeling he understands how Harry disappeared so quickly before. And as much as he absolutely hates it, he thinks Harry was right. He’ll have to meet him in the hallway. 

Louis opens the door and finds Harry, sitting on the floor, just the way he was before Louis stormed off. 

Wordlessly, Harry taps the floor in front of him again. He gazes up at Louis knowingly. His jaw is set tight, and he looks so  _ sorry. _ Louis pauses, but approaches him slowly down the hall. Of course he’s sitting outside her door. Of  _ course _ . 

He sits anyway, feeling queasy. “So, you’re a ghost.” 

“Indeed, I am,” Harry confirms. 

“And you’ve been here… six months and a few days?” 

Harry nods. 

“So you know, erm…” 

Harry smiles sadly, nodding his head once more. “Yeah, I’m sorry for your loss. Really.” 

Louis believes him. 

“Why can I see you now? If you’ve been here this whole time?” 

Harry shrugs, “That, I have no clue about. Honestly, I’ve never been seen by anybody before.” 

“Do you erm, haunt people a lot?” 

Harry actually laughs at that. “We call it visiting. But, erm. Yes. I never know where I’m going when I leave, but I can always feel when it’s time to. This is honestly the longest I’ve ever been in one place so far, so that might be why you can see me? You’re  _ very _ sensitive to the supernatural, you know? I’ve actually wondered if you can see me a  _ lot  _ before now, but it was always a false alarm.” 

Harry speaks very slowly, but he has a lot to say. 

“What do you mean?” Louis interjects. “That I’m sensitive to the supernatural?” 

“I mean, you’ve felt me for a very long time. Sometimes you’d look right into my eyes. Often, it was because you were a little spacey, but it was proper  _ spooky _ , mate.” 

Louis barks an unamused laugh, “An actual  _ ghost _ is calling me spooky right now? What the hell is happening?” 

Harry shrugs, “I mean. Maybe you’re normal. I’ve just never encountered someone who could sense me so strongly before.” 

“I’m still having a hard time knowing what that means. How could I sense you if I had no idea you were here?” 

“Louis, do you believe in ghosts?” Harry asks, an eyebrow raised, challenging. 

“I mean...  I do  _ now _ .” Louis admits. 

“Exactly. But how many times did you think to yourself that you didn’t feel alone in here?” 

Louis grits his teeth, “You have a point.” 

Harry smirks, clearly smug at having proven Louis wrong several times since their meeting. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, but why are you here?” 

The smirk practically falls off of Harry’s face. “That, I don’t know. No one ever tells me why I’m here.” 

It feels like a lie. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

Harry nods quickly, “Yep. I’ve never had a proper assignment. Those are for the angels and demons. I’m just… here. Popping in and out, going place to place.” 

“Forever?” 

Harry fiddles with the rings on his fingers. There are several of them, and Louis finds it comical—that a ghost would wear so many accessories. “Presumably.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“What is with all these  _ questions _ ?” Harry snaps. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Louis snaps back. “I’m just trying to understand why I can suddenly  _ see ghosts. _ ” 

“Not plural,” Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s just me. I promise.” 

“Fine. Still, this is fucking scary and you owe me some answers, okay?” 

“I’ve already told you too much, Lou.” Harry shrugs, mild irritation coloring his face. 

“Will you  _ stop _ calling me that? You don’t  _ know _ me.” Louis argues. He can feel his cheeks going pink, and his jaw clenching in frustration. 

“I’ve known you for like, six months. I beg to differ.” 

That sends a chill down Louis’ spine. He really hasn’t been alone in his home all this time. He’s been watched and surveyed and  _ haunted _ no matter what Harry says. 

“This conversation is over.” Louis announces. “Look, you said you can feel when it’s time to go. I’m ready for you to, so I’m sure that means you can feel it, right?” 

Harry grins, the bastard. He stretches his legs out and leans back, resting his weight on his palms behind him. “Nope. I think I’ll be here a while still.” 

Louis groans, a low, frustrated growl. 

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” 

“Goodnight, Lou. See you in the morning.” Harry lifts a hand and waves with his fingers. Its condescending and infuriating, and Louis slams his door once more for good measure. 

His sleep is fitful, but somehow, his nightmares are more tolerable than the events of the evening. 

 

___

  
As a few days go by,  Louis realises he had been too quick to hate his life’s monotony. He never thought he’d ache for his old existence. He still dreads each day, but now the universe has given him something concrete—or erm, real at least, to comment on his horrid existence. 

He does his best to ignore Harry, but since he’s been declared visible, the same eerie feelings that had clung to Louis’ bones have only gotten worse. Louis wonders if it would go away if he’d just talk to him. If he didn’t pointedly avoid his eye contact whenever he passed him in the hallway, or caught him observing Louis in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth in the morning, or even just acknowledged any of Harry’s ridiculous commentary on what’s happening on his TV in the evenings. 

Basically Harry hasn’t made ignoring him easy at all. His presence is relentless. Louis remembers thinking he didn’t look all that scary, and he doesn’t. Honestly, everything about him seems to be so soft. Looking at his gentle eyes, Louis would never have guessed how ambitious he was. 

This morning feels no different. He wakes up no less determined to ignore Harry’s every word. When he leaves his bedroom, he sees Harry sitting on his floor in the hallway like always, but this time, he’s surprised to find Harry leaning against the wall, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, mouth parted. 

Louis is almost endeared. He didn’t know ghosts could sleep. It’s so strange to see him leaning against the wall that way when he’s seen Harry walk through his door with ease. He wonders how it all works. Surely there’s a science to being a ghost. And ever since Harry had mentioned angels and demons, Louis had been wondering who becomes what when they die and how. It’s all very puzzling to him. 

Unfortunately, he’s thought through all of this while staring at Harry’s sleeping figure, just long enough to earn Harry’s attention. When he opens his eyes, Louis is embarrassed. Mostly because that godforsaken smirk Louis’ grown familiar with makes an appearance almost immediately. 

“Yes?” Harry asks, teasing. He stands effortlessly from his spot and leans against the wall, an eyebrow cocked and his wide smirk still present. 

“Nothing,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes, beelining for the bathroom. 

“Are you through ignoring me yet? It’s become dreadfully boring.” 

“In your dreams, Harry.” Louis teases. 

“You’d be right about that,” Harry laughs easily. “I miss when we talked. That was lovely.”

“You’re such a shit,” Louis remarks, Harry’s sarcasm is not lost on him, as he wets the bristles of his toothbrush. 

“I know.” Harry shrugs. “Really, you were right. I crossed a line that night and I’m sorry.” 

Louis hesitates, but nods, actually meeting Harry’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. 

“Will you forgive me?” 

Louis sighs. “I will if you’ll start answering more questions.” 

“Fine, but not now, okay? You’re going to be late.” 

Louis glances at his phone for the time and realizes Harry’s right. He hurries through his morning routine and takes one last long look at Harry on his way out the door. “We’re talking later.” 

“Can’t wait,” Harry smiles gently and waves him off. 

 

___

 

Louis has considered himself distracted most every day for the last several months, so he really didn’t think that his behavior had changed at all since Harry’s arrival. He still only puts the bare minimum in his work assignments, he still tenses slightly when his supervisor stops by his office to confirm a few things. Forever afraid that the bare minimum and the bags under his eyes are going to cost him his job. 

Louis sits alone at lunch until Liam joins him. Until today, it had mostly been the same. Liam asks Louis how he’s doing and Louis says he’s fine and they eat in mostly silence. The only intermittent sound is Liam, beating around the bush and trying to get Louis to open up. It’s always brief because often, Louis doesn’t even hear what Liam says. 

Color him shocked when Liam practically drops his tray of food across from him, sitting down quickly and demanding Louis’ attention with his direct gaze. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

Louis blinks a few times, trying to make sense of Liam’s question. “What?” 

“Something is different. And I want to know what it is.” Liam demands. 

Louis isn’t used to Liam being so  _ direct _ with him. He’s still trying to recover from the shock before Liam continues. 

“You’ve been walking around this place for months like a bloody  _ ghost _ .” 

Louis cringes at his word choice. 

“Never making eye contact, and really never seeming like you’re there at all. Did you know that Soph and I broke up? Because I’ve told you four times and I don’t think you’ve heard me.” 

Louis’ eyes widen at that. Has he really been  _ that _ out of it? 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Liam scoffs. “So now, you’re waltzing around here with a little light in your eyes. You’re still bloody  _ distracted _ , but now it looks like you’re actually thinking about something. And I need to know what it is.” 

“Li, I’m so sorry about Sophia.” Louis says. He doesn’t know where else to start. 

“Doesn’t matter. It happened months ago.” Liam shrugs. “So what are you thinking about?  _ Talk _ to me. Please.” 

“I dunno, Liam.” Louis shrugs. “You’re not going to like what I’m thinking right now.” 

Liam settles into his seat, never breaking eye contact. Louis has to look away a couple times because it’s a little overwhelming. “What is it, Lou? You know you can tell me anything at all.” 

Louis knows he’s right. He knows he could’ve told Liam absolutely everything he’s been feeling since the start. Liam may have been the only person in his life that could have heard Louis speak at the depths of his despair. And it’s that very reason Louis strayed from him. He didn’t want to be a cause for worry. He didn’t want to be anything to anybody because it was only going to make him feel worse. It would only distract them from the real tragedy, from the throbbing loss the whole universe should feel. 

“C’mon Louis, you’re killing me here.” Liam sighs. “Please. Just let me in for a second.” 

“Li, do you believe in ghosts?” Louis asks. 

Liam furrows his brow a moment, “Do you?” 

Louis resists the desire to roll his eyes. Liam didn’t wait long to start turning his questions back on him. 

“I’m starting to,” Louis admits. 

“Why do you think that is?” Liam asks sincerely. 

Louis could tell him the truth. Or he could let Liam walk straight into the line of thinking he wants to. 

In the end, he opts for both. “I think I have one.” 

Liam reacts as though he understands, nodding seriously.  “Is this about your flat again?” 

Louis avoids Liam’s eyes as he nods. 

“Lou… can I, erm. Propose something to you?” Liam starts. 

Louis furrows his brows at him and shrugs, “Sure.” 

“Have you thought about… moving?” The question tumbles out of Liam’s mouth slowly, but the last word hits Louis like a punch in the gut. 

“No.” He answers, cold and indifferent. 

“Lou, think about it a second.” Liam starts. 

“No, Liam.” Louis replies, and he can feel the coat of steel that’s covering his eyes. He sits up a little straighter and meets Liam’s eyes before he continues. “I haven’t and I’m not going to.” 

Liam visibly wilts and Louis is glad. This conversation is good as over. He returns his attention to his food, trying to force himself to take a few bites before calling it quits. The silence between himself and his dear friend speaks volumes for the both of them. 

Louis is still fuming on his way home. His body feels completely wrecked with nerves and fury. The kind that makes him feel tormented in his seat on the tube. He should’ve walked home. He’s not often inclined to run, but he imagines that’s exactly what he needs right now. He craves the strain in his muscle, and the way the air feels cold and harsh in his lungs when he tries to catch his breath. 

He gets off the tube at the next stop and runs until he can’t anymore. 

 

___

 

When Louis returns to his flat, it’s late. He hasn’t eaten, and he doesn’t feel hungry, but he  _ does _ feel hollow. If he’s honest, he’s felt that way for a while. 

His lungs are still heaving as he walks up the steps to his front door. The first thing he does when he opens it is toe off his shoes. He wonders if he should start packing his running shoes with him, in case this ever happens again. It’s not likely, but it could be the healthiest habit he’s considered in his adult life. 

“Hiya!” 

Louis’ head shoots up at the sound of a fond Harry leaning against the door. It takes all Louis has not to groan. He’d forgotten somehow, that Harry would be here. That he’d be waiting. 

Louis doesn’t answer, instead reverts back to the plan that’s managed to work the last few days. Avoiding Harry’s gaze and sitting on the couch with his back to him. He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV, surfing the channels for an old football game or something. 

“How was your day, dear?” Harry asks, undeterred. Louis rolls his eyes at the petname. It’s the first time since Harry’s arrival that Louis has actually  _ felt _ haunted. 

“Oh, come on. Are we really back to the silent treatment?” Harry says, a pout evident in his voice. 

Louis turns the TV up louder. 

“Lou. Please. I made my apologies! I even meant them and that’s rare for me!” 

Louis keeps his gaze forward, at this point focusing more on ignoring Harry than he is on the TV. It’s proving to be much more difficult than usual, and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s tired or just more irritable than usual. Feeling things so thoroughly is new to him. He’s been more or less numb for several months, so between Liam’s misplaced suggestion, and his incessant ghost, it feels like he’s simmering. The only thing keeping him from a boil is that he’s still so damn empty, that his simmering insides are only burning him. 

“Did something happen?” Harry asks. And Louis is alarmed then to realize Harry’s sat right beside him on the couch. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Louis says, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to stay over there.” 

Harry shrugs, “I mean, I can  _ leave _ . It’s just not guaranteed I’ll stay somewhere else for long.” 

Louis huffs, frustrated. “Can you just take a walk? Even if your weird ghost forces bring you back to my hallway eventually, can you just get out of here for a while?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Nope. That front door is the only door I can’t walk through. I’ve tried.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. He’d make Harry prove it, but that means speaking, which he’s just decided against doing any further. He turns his attention back to the TV and crosses his arms.

“Seriously, Louis. Are you alright? Something feels wrong.” 

Louis detests the way his eyes burn at that. He hates that he’s helpless to stop the tears from falling. He hates that Liam brought up the inevitable, and he hates that he’s more fucking transparent than the ghost in the room. 

“Can I ask you something?” Louis says, finally, sniffing a little. 

“Course you can.” 

“Why isn’t she here?” Louis looks up then, daring to look straight into Harry’s eyes as he asks. 

“Louis,” Harry shuffles uncomfortably, “You know why she’s not here.”  

“No, I mean, like,” Louis pauses, gesturing vaguely. “You say that I’ve known for a while that I wasn’t alone here. And I guess, I did feel like there was a ghost here but…” 

Harry hums, understanding in the furrow of his brow. He leans back against the couch, and Louis wonders absently if he’s really sitting here or if he’s just hovering slightly above it. The science of being a ghost is completely beyond him. 

“You figured she was visiting you?” 

Louis feels his throat close up a bit as he answers, “Yeah, I guess.” 

Harry takes a deep, contemplative breath. “Well, I mean… ghosts don’t typically visit their, um. Resting place. They have before, but it’s actually very rare. And I mean, she’s not…” Harry stops. 

“Not what?” Louis encourages. “Do you know where she is?” 

Harry bites at his bottom lip and shakes his head slowly. “Not quite, no. She’s in a different plane of existence now. I’ve been where she is before, but I don’t have any real recollection of it. It’s… complicated.” 

Louis mulls that over in his mind for several moments. A different plane of existence sounds… promising almost. If he’s grateful for anything it’s that his very best friend isn’t here, in this world that scorned her. The world she promised to take by storm, only to let her own violence take her. 

“So she’s…” Louis sniffles again, “Has she ever been here? Since…” 

Harry frowns, “Only briefly. After.” 

“Did she… see?” 

Harry averts his eyes, and licks his lips once lightly before he, hesitantly nods. “Yeah, she was there. And then she wasn’t.” 

Louis nods once, as if he could even begin to understand what that must have been like. As though he could actually picture her, watching him as he discovers the worst event of his life. He wonders, morbidly, about who had it worse in that scenario. His gut says he does. But he knows that’s not true. He knows his best friend, and in that moment, she likely suffered greatly. 

He wonders what her new existence is like. If she remembers, or if the moment she disappeared, he was the one with the heaviest weight to bear. He hopes so. 

“Lou?” Harry asks gently. “Are you alright?” 

Louis wipes at his eyes again, and nods. 

“What happened today?” 

Louis laughs harshly. “Oh, just. My friend. I tried to tell him about. Well, you.” 

Harry nods, seemingly unbothered by the idea.

“And he told me that maybe I should consider moving.” Louis shrugs. “And I told him absolutely not. I was so  _ angry _ that he’d even suggest it.” 

Harry’s attention never wavers as Louis continues. “And now I just feel  _ stupid  _ or something because she’s... Well, I just thought she was…” 

He can’t say it. Luckily Harry nods his understanding. It’s silent between them a few minutes after that. Louis had forgotten he turned the volume up as loud as he did, and he’s more surprised when he finds Harry is able to grip the remote and turn the TV off. 

“I do not understand how you work.” Louis says, flabbergasted. 

Harry only grins in response. “I’ve barely figured it out myself, mate.” 

“How long have you… erm—” Louis stops, embarrassed by his forward question. 

“Been dead?” Harry chuckles. 

Louis tries for an apologetic smile and Harry waves him off. 

“A while.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, “God, why are you so fucking cryptic all the time?”

Harry shrugs with a sparkle in his eye and a dimple or two. 

Louis actually giggles, “You’re the fucking worst, did you know?” 

“Hey!” Harry drawls, “I’ve answered most of your other questions, haven’t I?” 

“Yeah, I suppose you have,” he admits. 

“How are you still here?” 

Harry furrows his brow again in confusion, “I’m… a ghost? We’ve been over all that.” 

“No,” Louis laughs, “Like, here. On the couch.” 

“Oh,” Harry replies, eyes alight with the realization. “You’re right. That’s… weird.” 

“You really don’t know how your ghost force works do you?” 

“I’m not a fucking Jedi, am I?” Harry laughs. “Being a ghost is really confusing, you should try it and see if you can keep up with all the shit that changes.” 

“I don’t think I’m quite ready to try it yet,” Louis hums. “Feels a little more permanent than an attempt.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, “Smart arse.” 

They laugh together, and Louis is again struck by just how many emotions he’s experienced today. 

“So can I ask you something else?” Louis starts, sitting up a little straighter and turning so his body is facing Harry as he sits with his legs folded underneath him. 

“Oh there’s more?” 

Louis nods. “I told you. Answer my questions and stay in my good graces.”  

“Alright, what is it then?” 

“You mentioned that you’ve also been in other planes of existence but that you don’t really remember them? Do you remember any of your previous life on earth?” 

Harry confirms, “Yeah, my human life is crystal clear. It’s what came after that’s a little hazy.” 

“Huh. Why is that, do you think?” 

“Humans are obsessive by nature,” Harry shrugs. “Honestly, we dwell on things so much when we’re human. Past, present, and future, that’s like, it’s kind of impossible not to take that with you no matter where you end up. Though I think there is some… variation, in who remembers what in the afterlife.” 

“What do you mean, variation?” 

“Like, I’ve met other ghosts who remember only their childhood, and others who are right dreadful, and only remember the worst things that ever happened to them. Not many remember... everything quite as vividly as I do.” 

“So like… you remember the whole thing? Birth to now?” 

“Birth to death, yes. Well, early childhood to death, is more accurate I guess. But like I said, some of the stuff immediately after is gone or just really hazy.” 

“Hm,” Louis answers. 

Harry hums right back, teasing. “Any other questions, nosey?” 

Louis grins a little, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, a few.” 

Harry laughs, but gestures towards him, “Lay it on me.” 

“You said that it’s rare for ghosts to visit their um—” Louis hesitates, trying to remember how Harry had phrased it. 

“Resting place,” Harry supplies. 

“Yes. Exactly. And I just wondered if… well. If you had?” 

Harry’s eyes go a little darker, his features colored in something that concerns Louis. He finds himself reaching for Harry’s hand, and jumps when his fingers fall straight through Harry to the couch. 

Harry smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not yet. But I likely will. It will probably be brief, because, I mean. Well, my death was pretty boring as deaths go.” 

Louis finds himself upset at the thought of Harry’s passing. He feels a loss that may be misplaced. Maybe an empathy for the people who lost him. The people who don’t think his death was boring at all. He tries to snap out of it, but Harry continues, only upsetting him further. 

“I’ve visited a lot of places from my time on earth, actually. From what I understand, most ghosts don’t ever see their previous homes once they’ve passed on. But I’ve seen every single one so far.”

“Is that why you think you’ll see the end? That you’re, erm, headed there?” Louis asks, leaning forward again in his seat so he doesn’t miss a word. 

Harry nods after a beat. He seems distracted suddenly and Louis wonders if maybe he should stop prodding. If this is something Harry shouldn’t be forced to talk about. 

Harry seems to revive himself a moment later. The playful smirk returning to his face as he sits with his legs wide. 

“So is this game of twenty questions one sided? Or do I get a turn?” 

“I mean you’ve… been here.” Louis answers, suddenly self conscious. “I figured you knew everything you needed to.” 

“I only know what I’ve observed,” Harry shrugs. “Also you mumble, mate, makes it hard for me to eavesdrop.” 

Louis avoids Harry’s eyes and still releases a short chuckle. “I mean, okay. Yeah. What do you wanna know?” 

Harry places a hand to his chin, thinking long and hard about his questions. Louis can tell he’s teasing by the glint in his eye, and the ridiculous way he’s stroking his chin. 

“What’s your mum like?” 

Louis smiles, because he can’t help it. “She’s lovely. Had me when she was really young, so honestly, she’s more like one of my best friends. I’d do anything for her.” 

“I can tell.” Harry grins.

“How’s that?” Louis asks, genuinely curious. 

“I think she’s the one who called the first time I saw you smile.” Harry admits. 

And there’s that somber turn Louis had been waiting for. He knows, realistically, their whole conversation has been coated in something a little dark and looming. They’ve been discussing the afterlife, for christ’s sake. But this is… real. Everything up to this point has felt like a fantasy. A foreign adventure. 

Is this how Harry felt when Louis started asking him questions? 

“Can ghosts feel a pit in their stomach? When they’re upset?” Louis asks suddenly. 

Harry shrugs, “No, but we do experience the same emotion. It just feels different. A little like getting bones back. You just feel heavier.” 

A pause. 

“Do you have a pit in your stomach now?” 

Louis nods. He hesitates, but then asks, “When was that? When I, erm—smiled?” 

Harry frowns, but forces Louis to meet his eyes. He stares just for a moment before he says, “About a month ago?” 

Louis swallows hard. Was it really? The first time he’d seen it. Maybe Louis had smiled at some point before then and Harry had missed it.

But he knows that’s not the case. Louis knows he’s barely been functioning the last several months. It makes  _ sense _ to him that his mum would be the first to make him crack a smile after  _ five  _ months. It’s just embarrassing. It’s unsettling that Harry’s been there to see it all. Louis had thought he was isolating himself successfully, but there was a witness this entire time. 

“Lou? You okay?” Harry asks, placing a reassuring hand on Louis’ thigh. 

Louis can’t feel it, but the very sentiment has his eyes burning.  

Louis almost wants to snap at him. He almost tells him to fuck off and walks away the way he had from Liam today. He feels the same itch under his skin, the same harsh burn in his throat. 

“I think…” Louis starts, keeping his gaze forward. “I should go to sleep.” 

Harry nods, clearly concerned. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Louis feels  _ relieved _ at that. Relieved that he can walk away from this conversation, that he can go to sleep, and when he wakes up Harry will still be here. He remembers that Harry doesn’t have much choice, but it’s nice that Harry doesn’t want to be ignored. And it’s nice that he doesn’t push. Not without Louis’ permission. 

God, this whole thing is so fucking weird. He doesn’t know when he became grateful for this ghost in his flat, and he doesn’t even know if he should be embarrassed anymore, that Harry’s seen him at the lowest points of his  _ life _ . And he thinks it’s because Harry’s still here. Staring at him with a furrowed brow, emanating this reassurance and  _ comfort _ Louis hadn’t expected. 

When Louis makes his way to his room, he goes to shut his door when he remembers the way he’d found Harry this morning. 

“Hey Harry?” 

Harry looks up from his spot on the floor.

Louis considers inviting him in. Instead he says, “Goodnight.” 

Harry smiles. “Goodnight, Lou.” 

 

___

 

Louis doesn’t sleep well that night. He dreams of other worlds and floating. It’s strange, not to be chased or followed or watched by the ghost he’s thought was haunting him all this time. No, instead Louis knows he’s approaching her. It feels like he’s swimming across an unfamiliar atmosphere, kicking his legs quickly, and stroking the air around him to get to her. 

She doesn’t see him, or doesn’t recognize him. Louis isn’t sure which is true. He keeps going anyway, an urgency he doesn’t quite understand pushing him forward. When he gets there, he realizes that it isn’t that she hadn’t seen him, it was that she couldn’t. Her eyes are closed tight as she floats in the fetal position. Louis wants to tap her shoulder, wants to call her name, wants to do anything, but instead he finds himself completely paralyzed. His limbs begin moving against his will so that he matches her position, and soon he can feel his own eyes closing tight. 

He panics, his heart racing, as he feels a strange heaviness in his eyelids—something he hasn’t experienced before. It feels permanent. It feels like when his eyes close, they may never open again. 

And then Louis wakes up. He sits straight up, a hand clutching his chest, his heart still racing, and chest heaving. Once he catches his breath, he takes a look around his room. He can tell he’s not quite alone, and he wonders if it should scare him that he’s okay with that. He seeks Harry out, wondering if he made his way into Louis’ room sometime in the night, but he’s nowhere to be found. Instead, Louis finds his door cracked open. 

He always shuts his door, so he figures that’s why he could sense another presence in his room. He gets out of his bed, his legs a little wobbly beneath him, and walks slowly to the door. Harry is still in the hallway, as he’d assumed, this time, with his head resting against the doorframe by his bedroom door. 

Harry lifts his head a second later and smiles softly at Louis. “Morning. You alright?” 

Louis feels warmer all of a sudden as he finds himself sinking to the floor beside him. “Weird dream. But yeah, I’m alright.”

“Wanna talk about it?” 

Louis is about to say no. He opens his mouth to do that and instead says, “I saw her. But this time it was different.” 

“Yeah?” Harry prompts with a whisper. 

“Yeah… I think. I don’t think she was really there.” Louis explains, “I think she just… she was just floating there. And then I—” He stops, worried suddenly that he’s sharing too much. Or that his dream is fucked up and Harry will judge him. It’s silly, really. Louis  _ is _ fucked up. Has been for a while and Harry knows that. 

Still, he finds he… cares. 

“And then you what?” Harry asks. 

Louis can feel  _ all _ of his attention in that moment, and it’s overwhelming. He shivers a little, wondering if this is his weird supernatural sensitivity coming into play, or if it’s something else. 

“It was like…” Louis starts. There’s a lump in his throat that makes his words come out raspier than normal. “Like she was asleep. And I was going to sleep too. But it was…” 

“Unsettling?” Harry supplies. 

Louis nods his agreement and stays quiet for a moment. He wonders if Harry knows what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t dare ask. 

“How are you this morning?” Louis shifts so he can rest his head against the other side of the doorframe, matching Harry’s position. 

Harry sighs, “About the same.” 

“Weird dream? Do ghosts do that?” 

Harry shrugs, “I mean, not really. But those, erm… vivid memories I was telling you about. We get those.” 

“Do you get those a lot?” 

Harry bites at his lip and stares at the floor between his legs. “Yeah.”

It’s early. Louis realizes he never checked the time before he got up, but he can tell that much. His flat is always so still, it’s eerie, but in the morning it takes on another life in its stillness. 

His mum was always a morning person, claiming it was peaceful and calming. A great way to start the day feeling centered. Louis had always felt something closer to chaos in the morning. He felt like the air was spinning with this readiness he didn’t have.

Admittedly, he hadn’t felt that in a long time. Purposefully forcing himself to continue sleeping until the sun peeked out. He always felt much calmer then. Now, in the dark, he feels something in the air dancing around him, and this time it feels taunting. It stirs this frustration in him. He wants to lash out, but he doesn’t know at what or how. 

Harry sits with his legs pulled close to his chest, and now Louis notices his eyes are shut tight. It almost looks like he’s in pain. Louis goes to touch his shoulder, trying to comfort him, but when his hand reaches the air near him, Harry disappears. 

Louis’ initial thought is to panic. He stands up and searches the flat, he checks every room until there’s only one left, and that’s when he comes to a screeching halt. He stands several feet away when he sees the light switched on. 

He hasn’t had that light switched on for six months, thirteen days and… eighteen hours. 

He stares at it, his hands trembling at his sides and he feels himself sink again to the floor. He continues to stare at the light seeping under the door crack. It’s unchanging, and paralyzing. 

And for the second time this morning, he feels an intense heaviness, weighing down his eyelids. This time, he doesn’t resist. He lets his body sink further into the floor, and his eyes fall shut. 

 

___

 

When Louis wakes up, he’s on the couch and there’s a piping hot cup of tea across from him, on the coffee table. He sits up and rubs his eyes, squinting at the bright light pouring through his open windows. He wonders a moment if Harry’s back. If Harry can open a door, he can make a cup of tea right? 

He takes a look to his right and jumps at the sight of Liam in his armchair. He settles soon after, with deep breaths, reminding him he’s safe. It’s just Liam. 

“Lou, we really need to talk.” 

Louis stiffens at Liam’s familiar words. 

“This has to stop. It’s been months and you’re only getting worse, Lou. I’m so worried about you, we’re all worried about you.” 

“Would you give me just a  _ second _ to wake up, Li.” Louis snaps, rubbing another crusty bit out of his eye. 

Liam sighs, heavy and frustrated. 

Louis reaches for his tea, sipping it generously. It burns his tongue, but he can’t be bothered to care too much. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re here?” Louis asks. He feels his irritation spreading through his body, making his movements stiff and swift all at once. 

“I called you last night. Several times. I never heard anything from you and it…” Liam stops, his words suddenly filled with emotion. His frustration, it seems, has fallen away in place of his weepy countenance. 

Louis feels himself relax, and he takes another sip of his tea before he sets it down and pats the spot next to him on the couch. The tears spill over, falling down Liam’s cheeks as he moves quickly to the spot beside Louis and he grips him tight. 

Louis lets himself be hugged, and after a moment, he hugs him back. He rubs Liam’s back as he cries, and Louis gets it. He understands what it must have been like to find him on the floor as he was. He knows what it’s like to be worried sick for a friend. The memories push out a few tears of his own.

Liam loosens his grip eventually, wiping at his eyes and looking straight at him. Louis can feel his friend searching for his soul. He wonders if there’s a light in his eyes at all. 

“I thought I lost you this morning. I thought…” Liam admits, a fresh wave of tears appearing. “And I can’t… I can’t lose both of you.” 

Louis shushes him, “You’re not, Liam. You won’t.” 

“I know you’re mad at me, and I know you’re not ready. But please, consider just… letting her rest here, eventually. You have to let her go.” 

Louis feels a low sob make its way up his throat, because he knows. Something in his gut or his heart, or  _ both _ have assured him that he will eventually have to say his goodbyes. 

But it’s not time yet. There’s something to take care of first. His only wish is to know what it is.  

Liam stays into the late afternoon. They turn on some films and find solace in each other’s company, and Louis finds himself staying close to Liam’s side the entire time. He hates that he’d forgotten that though he’s been alone in his mourning—he was never alone in his loss.  

 

___

 

It’s like the moment Liam takes his leave, the air in his flat shifts. He glances under the door to her old room and finds the light’s been switched off again. And when he turns back, he jolts in his seat when he finds Harry’s sat right beside him. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Louis snaps. “You know you could say  _ hi _ when you appear or something,  _ fuck _ .” 

Harry smiles apologetically. “We need to talk.” 

Louis groans, “Why is everyone always saying this to me?” 

“There’s some… things I really need to know. Okay? And I didn’t want to ask because I know it’s… hard. But we need to talk about Frankie.” 

Louis feels his heart pound in his chest. He hasn’t heard anyone say her name since the funeral. Whether he’s tuned it out or people have chosen to be respectful of the way Louis’ insistently avoided saying it, he isn’t sure. He feels angry that Harry would be so insensitive, throwing her name out without warning, but a second later, his anger is shut down by a crippling sense of unease.  

“Why?” he asks in an anxious whisper. “Where did you go? Did you, erm. See her?” 

Harry shakes his head, “No. No I just. I need to know something.” 

“What?” Louis asks, suddenly fearful under Harry’s focused stare. 

“Were you two… romantic?” 

Louis barks a laugh. He can’t help it. “You really need to work on the way you introduce topics, Harry. You really fucking scared me there.” 

“Is that a no?” 

Louis chuckles again, “Never thought about her like that once in my entire life. We were close, but never like that.” 

Harry furrows his brow and relaxes back into the couch. “Shit.” 

“Why? I don’t get it.” Louis asks. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Sorry.” Harry waves him off. 

Louis feels the irritation coming back and he rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna have to tell me eventually you know.” 

Harry looks afraid then—it seems that Louis’ words have struck a nerve. 

“Where did you go anyway?” Louis presses. He tries to be sensitive, but doesn’t quite hit the mark. 

Harry winces, “You don’t wanna know.” 

“Somewhere else from your human life then?” 

Harry shuts his eyes and promptly tunes Louis out. He’ll take that as a yes. 

After several minutes, Louis stands up, taking this morning’s mug with him to the kitchen sink. 

Harry vanishes again, this time popping up on his feet, in front of the kitchen sink. Louis pushes the mug through his middle and sets it inside, and Harry squirms as Louis brings his hand back through. 

“Could you feel that?” Louis asks, amused. 

Harry scowls, “Please don’t do that again.” 

“I mean, you were in my way.” 

“I didn’t  _ mean _ to be.” Harry says, raising his voice. 

“But you were, so what else was I supposed to do,” Louis argues. 

“I don’t know, say  _ excuse me _ .” Harry snarls, rolling his eyes. 

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Louis asks him, crossing his arms. 

“Wouldn’t you like to fucking know.” 

“Yeah, ya know I really fucking would. And you owe me that, don’t you? You’re in  _ my  _ flat, and you’ve been here for  _ ages _ but you won’t tell me what you’ve seen or why.” An anger Louis isn’t expecting rises through him, pushing out a response even he hadn’t been expecting. “And I can tell you’re lying to me Harry. I know you  _ know _ why you’re here, and I think I deserve to know why you won’t leave me the fuck alone.” 

“What makes you think that I know anything?” Harry spits back. 

“I don’t know, dickhead. Tell me why  _ you’re _ the one that looks like they’ve seen a fucking ghost today!” Louis yells, promptly turning to walk away. 

He tries, he does, but then he feels something brush his arm. Louis shudders and turns around, eyes wide. Harry stops where he is, matching the shock Louis feels on his own face. 

“Did you just touch me?” Louis asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Harry swallows and gives a delayed shrug in response. 

“Try that again.” Louis says. He puts a hand out and it feels like a moment he’s seen before. That telltale signal of a human reaching out to new life, looking for some way to prove their existence. As if what they see in front of them isn’t enough. 

Harry steps forward a little, and he looks so  _ scared _ as he lifts his hand beside Louis’. He waits a moment before he starts to move, and Louis finds himself moving too, meeting him halfway.  

Then something Louis can only describe as miraculous happens. 

Louis takes a shaky breath in, as he takes in Harry’s soft palm against his own. Harry looks as shocked as he does. 

“Have you ever done this before?” 

Harry shakes his head quickly. 

“You’ve not been able to… touch another human like this?” 

Harry shakes his head again, eyes still wide. 

“Okay.” Louis takes a deep breath. “Okay, look. Let’s… I need a minute.” 

Harry nods and quickly pulls his palm away.

It’s awkward, the moment immediately after they’ve broken this boundary. It feels like this earth shattering discovery, and now they have to decide what to do with it. The responsibility is what Louis feels most prominently. 

Louis makes tea. He doesn’t know what else to do. So he switches on the kettle and sits at the kitchen table and listens for the low rumbling sound. 

A moment later, Harry takes the seat beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Why?” Louis asks. 

“I didn’t mean to…” Harry pauses, considering. “I know I’ve been acting strange today.” 

Louis nods. He can’t say he disagrees. 

“This is… new. There’s just a lot happening right now. And I can’t really… tell you about it.” 

Louis feels his earlier anger returning, and Harry senses it, lifting a hand to hush him. 

“At least not yet.” Harry corrects. “First, I need to know… some more about you. I may ask some more ridiculous questions, but I need you to bear with me. And I promise to answer some more of yours, but they have to stay in… bounds.” 

“Do I get to refuse any questions?” Louis asks, he can’t help the snark that comes out. 

Harry huffs a little, but keeps his composure. “Only if I cross a real boundary, okay? It’s really important that you’re honest with me.” 

“Why?” Louis challenges. 

He’s getting really tired of Harry’s shit is all. He’s so vague all the fucking time, and yeah, maybe he has answered a few of Louis’ questions, but never the ones that matter. Louis realizes that maybe what frustrates him the most is that after all their talking, after all his questions he still doesn’t  _ know _ Harry. It’s not fair that Harry has more or less observed him for several months and knows a hell of a lot more than Louis does. 

“Because I’ve never been in one place this long before.” Harry says, his words seem like an outburst, a confession. “Because I’ve been a ghost for fucking  _ ever _ now and I thought I’d near paid my dues, but now I can’t seem to leave this place and I can  _ touch _ you, and it scares the shit out of me.” 

Harry taps his foot loudly beneath the kitchen table, and places his thumb nail between his teeth. 

The tea is ready, and the low rumble of the kettle breaks the steely silence between them. 

Louis stands to pour his tea, fixing it just the way he likes. He nearly asks Harry if he’d like some, but he decides to make a second cup anyway. He’ll drink it if Harry can’t. Besides that, it feels like a level somehow. Something to put them on even ground. 

He sets the second mug in front of Harry, and notices immediately the way his eyebrows raise, a smile slowly appearing on his face. Louis smiles back and tries to maintain some of his former snark when he says, “Don’t question me.” 

“I thought that’s what we were doing here,” Harry teases. 

“You and your fucking twenty questions. You need to pick a different game,” Louis chuckles, despite himself. He’s  _ irritated _ , he really is. But for whatever reason, he can’t stay that way long where Harry is concerned. 

“Okay, so I do want to set some rules, okay?” Harry starts, hands placed gently around the mug Louis had given him. 

Louis nods his consent. 

“I’m going to ask you questions about Frankie, and you’re going to have to deal with that,” he starts. Louis winces again, at the sound of her name. “I promise, you can tell me to stop, if I ask anything that makes you too uncomfortable.” 

“What if the topic does—” 

“That’s the one thing I really can’t compromise,” Harry interrupts. “I’m sorry.” 

“Okay,” Louis mutters. “What else?” 

“I know you have more questions about my… ghost stuff. But I reserve the right to not disclose certain answers to you. You have to understand that I’ve already told you… more than I ever should have.” 

Louis sighs, but doesn’t argue too much. Not knowing the logistics of Harry’s life as a ghost doesn’t mean he won’t get what he wants. 

“So, I figure we do this the way we have been. A question for a question.” 

Louis nods, “You first, then.” 

Harry looks surprised that Louis passed up the opportunity to go first, but he accepts it and starts with a swift kick to Louis’ gut. “How did you and Frankie meet?” 

“So we’re starting with all that?” 

Harry nods quickly, “I told you.”

“I know, I know,” Louis lifts a hand in surrender, “I just thought maybe we’d start with something a little easier. My favorite color’s green if you were curious.” 

“Just answer the question, Lou.” Harry says, the demand too soft to be threatening. 

Louis takes a deep breath, “We met at uni. We took this dreadful maths class, and commiserated during and after all the time. It really just sort of… happened. Our friendship. We started looking for reasons to walk each other to class, and meet each other outside of class and on the weekends.” 

Harry smiles, “It wasn’t romantic, though?” 

Louis shakes his head, “No, but it was… intimate. Like, she was the first person in uni I came out to. And I was the only person who knew about her family, and why she didn’t want to go home during breaks. I just felt like I could tell her absolutely anything, and it was obviously reciprocated. She spent the night sometimes, but there was no sexual attraction on either end.” 

“What was she like?” Harry asks, elbows on the table as he leans closer, eager to listen. 

And like that, Louis finds himself pouring out story after story. It’s strange how a few sincere questions about her was all it took for every  _ good _ memory to come flooding back. He hadn’t even shared this much at her funeral—too overcome with grief to say a word without several tears to accompany it. 

“There was one night we were out, and Liam had been drinking fucking ciders like he always did, and I was always teasing him about it, because he wanted something sweet, but he  _ refused _ a fruity cocktail. And I knew it was a no homo thing or whatever, and Fran did too, and one night she just sat next to him with a couple she bought. She told him the bartender gave her two and she didn’t want both but that Liam could try it if he wanted. He took one sip of that thing, and never looked back. He got drunk faster too which was always  _ much _ more fun.” Louis laughs at the memory. “She was just like that, I guess. Just… she was fucking  _ fun  _ and she only ever wanted you to have fun with her. And that meant she’d go out of her way to make you comfortable and whatever. She was just… the best person.” 

Louis feels a wetness on his cheeks, and wipes it away. “I miss her a lot.” 

“Liam was my assigned roommate first year and we used to really butt heads, but when I invited Frankie to go out some night, Liam ended up tagging along and it was like the three of us were always meant to be friends. We balanced each other out. And from there, I guess, our individual relationships just got stronger. Liam and I became closer and stopped fighting so much. But Frankie and I just… shared a brain or something. It was fucking weird, how often she knew  _ exactly _ what I was thinking.” 

Louis stops a second, sipping the tea on the table that’s gone cold while he’s been blabbering on. He sniffles a little and looks at Harry, who’s watching intently, a hand cradling his face. His eyes are big and soft and Louis can  _ feel _ him listening and it’s just nice. So nice, that someone wants to know and wants to let him talk and hear his old stories. 

“So,” Harry says softly, “What happened then? What… changed, I guess?”

Louis swallows hard. This is where the story gets… harder. 

“She… got the job of a lifetime.” Louis starts. “She got what she always wanted, the chance to write for this  _ huge _ magazine. And I… wasn’t going anywhere. I got jealous, and she knew me better than anyone so she knew I was struggling with post grad life in general. While she was out living her best life, I started partying a lot. I went hard all the fucking time, drinking, smoking, the lot. I didn’t touch the hard stuff often. I took something sometimes, on really hard days, but it wasn’t… I didn’t need it and it really happened maybe three times in my life.” 

He pauses, feeling something in his chest tighten. “The last time I took something, was the night Fran wanted to go out with me. I was annoyed with her because she had been lecturing me so fucking much for going out all the time, and suddenly one bad talk with her dad and she thought going out with me was peachy keen.” He chuckles harshly at the memory, at just how frustrated he’d been with her. “So first I told her no. That I didn’t need her dragging me down. But she got annoying about it and begged me something terrible before I agreed to take her along just to get her to shut up. And as soon as I got there, I was sick of her. I just needed the escape. It was the first time I felt like I  _ needed _ something like that, and it scared me but I did it anyway. And she made me get two. So we both tripped and we tripped  _ hard _ . It was fucking  _ awful _ . I don’t even remember what it was, just that it wasn’t like any high I’d experienced before.” 

Louis takes a shallow breath in. “I woke up outside the next morning, on a park bench. I had no idea where the fuck she was and I was scared as hell. Not even for me, but for her. I called Liam and I could hear her fucking  _ singing _ in the background, and I could have murdered her, Harry.” Louis pauses a moment because he can’t push off his labored breathing anymore. He lets a few cries loose before he continues, “I thought she was gone, and I thought it was my  _ fault _ . And when I got home, I just. Lost it. I hugged her and I remember just crying and telling her I was so sorry. I hadn’t meant to lose her like that.” 

Louis shakes his head, chuckling darkly. “But she just laughed at me. She laughed like the whole world wasn’t flipped over for me if she was gone. And she told me to stop being such a pussy about it because the night before had been fun. 

“I stopped going out so much after that. Waking up that morning was enough to scare me out of ever needing shit like that again, but Fran just… it was like it had awakened something totally new in her. And soon she just wasn’t…  _ fun _ anymore.” 

He hears Harry sniff a little beside him, his countenance completely altered. He looks folded in on himself as he listens, his eyes filled with something dark and awful. 

“It didn’t take long after that,” Harry says, his voice thick. “Did it?” 

Louis’ eyes fill again with a new wave of tears as he shakes his head. “Not at all. And I think about that morning all the time. I think about how convinced I was that she was gone… and I feel almost like it was a premonition, you know? Because she was. She was gone. And there was nothing I could do to get her back after that.” 

And then Louis’ crying. Sobbing, really. Deep, heavy things that he can’t contain. The kind that he hasn’t felt wrack through his body in six months, thirteen days and ten hours. Since he found her. 

The next thing he feels is a cold hand on his shoulder and a colder gaze, watching him carefully. He hasn’t really thought about that, in all this time. Hasn’t gone back to when it started, how good it was before all of that. All he’s really had to dwell on is that she’s gone, and that it’s his fault. 

Harry’s chair is set directly beside his, enabling him to comfortably sit with his hand on his shoulder and move to rub his back occasionally. Louis hadn’t  _ realized _ how much he needed it. How much it meant to have someone just listen to him. Even if that person is a figment of his imagination or from the underworld or wherever the fuck he came from. He’s here, and it’s almost as if he understands. 

“I think it’s my turn for the next twenty rounds, okay?” Louis says with a humorless laugh. 

Harry nods seriously, a small sympathetic smile on his face. “Yeah, I owe you one. I feel like I drilled you.” 

Louis actually laughs at that, a loud bark that catches him by surprise. “That was your idea of drilling, then?” 

Harry bites back a laugh, “Not actually. I planned to. You’re usually stubborn as fuck, I thought I broke you.” 

Louis wipes at his eyes and gives another wet chuckle. “I’d just forgotten, I think. How much I really loved her.” 

“You hadn’t forgotten. It just became less important after… everything.” Harry says, leaning back and removing his hand from Louis’ back. It had been so cold, but Louis shivers at the loss of contact. “Love isn’t exactly the first thing you feel when you find someone like you found her.” 

“I disagree,” Louis says, “I think love is the driving force behind all the other shit you feel first.” 

“It wasn’t for me,” Harry says, with a shrug. “I was just pissed off.” 

Louis stops, eyes darting to Harry’s face. “What do you mean?” 

“That the question you wanna go with?” Harry says, far too lightly after dropping so heavy a bomb. 

“Why does it feel like you...  _ get _ this?” Louis amends. 

Harry’s demeanor becomes cool then, settling further into his chair, with body language that feels open and vulnerable apart from how tightly he’s crossed his arms. 

“I could give you some ghost bullshit. That I just have these insane empathy powers or something. I’m sensitive to human grief. I dunno…” Harry pauses, thoughtful. “I’ve been horribly bad at lying to you.” 

“So don’t, then.” Louis says simply. “Don’t lie to me.” 

Harry sighs, and drops his arms to his side. “I, erm. My boyfriend used. Was into cocaine. Loved it more than he ever loved me, but erm…” Harry huffs, seemingly embarrassed. “It didn’t hurt any less when I found him.” 

Louis aches with his new knowledge. He lets this context he’s been craving crash over him, and wishes he hadn’t been so eager to know it. He looks at Harry, eyes downcast, chewing on his bottom lip, arms still crossed, but hanging loosely at his chest, and for the first time it feels like he sees him. 

Harry huffs, “I didn’t love him then, though. While he was alive I loved him more than anything. Was ready to give it all for him, but he never… he couldn’t really, deal with it. Neither of us were out. I was only just coming to terms with it as part of my identity and not just this itch I had to scratch sometimes. And he didn’t want to deal with that, so he just disappeared. He was with me all the time, but he was never  _ really _ there. And when I found him, I didn’t feel like… I wasn’t even  _ sad _ .” 

Harry pauses a moment, lost in the memory. Louis wonders if it’s one of those vivid ones he’s talked about. The ones that visit him late in the night. 

“I hated him. I hated that he left me to deal with everything by myself. I hated that he had family, and that those people were going to poke into our home and likely learn something I never wanted them to. I thought he was so fucking  _ selfish _ to leave me like that. He knew I would find him. He knew what he was doing. And love was the furthest thing from my mind.” 

And Louis hates that the first thing he can think to say is, “I’m sorry.” 

Harry chuckles, darkly. “S’fine. Was ages ago.” 

“It doesn’t feel like ages, though.” 

Harry shrugs, “Not when you’re… like me. It’ll never feel like ages ago. But it was.” 

Louis frowns, unsure what to say. He doesn’t know what he’d want to be told or asked. “Do you still think you loved him?” 

Louis can see the thick swallow, the way Harry’s straining his eyes to keep from crying. He shakes his head. “I think we resented each other too much for all that.” 

Louis nods, understanding. Those last few months felt much the same for him. Only most of the resentment was for himself. 

A heaviness settles between them. It almost feels as though the air around them has slowed down significantly, and Louis thinks it could just be in his mind. This used to be the usual state of things, when he was completely overcome with grief and the guilt that accompanied it. He’d been accused of being sluggish, but Louis could  _ swear _ it was something in the air. He thought it had been her. He really always thought that it had been her and maybe… 

Louis looks up at Harry, who seems lost in a slew of his own thoughts. The way his eyes are darting from one spot to the next suggests his mind is spinning faster than his own. 

“Harry?” 

Harry looks up quickly, eyes moving distinctly to give Louis his full attention. The  _ intensity _ in his gaze is just too much, and in the midst of his own battle, Louis finds it in himself to smile. 

“Ready for a  _ real _ game of twenty questions?” 

Harry is looking at him like he’s crazy and that’s clearly not beyond the point of reasoning. Louis  _ feels _ crazy. But it looks like this ghost at his kitchen table needs consoling. And Louis’ not always good at that, but he  _ is _ good at distraction tactics. 

“Meet me in the hallway, okay?” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, just stares, unassuming and confused. He’s clearly distracted, so once Louis makes it to the doorway he gives a small wave and smiles again. “I’ll be on the floor.” 

Harry huffs the tiniest laugh at that, leaning back in his chair, arms draped across his stomach. 

Louis does as he’s said, and finds a spot on the floor in his hallway. It’s not so hard anymore, being next to her bedroom door. Though he’s still relieved it’s closed. He closes his eyes a moment and he just... He tries to feel her. It feels sort of silly, but he really misses her today. Misses her for who she was to him and how comfortable they were with each other. She always knew exactly how to calm him down. And so he sits on the floor in his hallway and tries to channel that, wondering if there’s a way he can make Harry do the same. 

Louis isn’t entirely sure how long he sits like that, head tilted toward the sky with his eyes closed. He takes deep breaths, until he feels a little like he’s floated away. And he does feel her. He can imagine her hand on his shoulder, and her tinkly laugh, and the way she loved him  _ always _ , no matter what. And how he really owed her the same. Especially toward the end. And just as the tears are about to give way again, he can feel Harry approaching. 

Louis leaves his eyes closed, but he can hear Harry’s steps, and can feel how he’s leaning against the wall just beside him, slowly sinking down to the floor. 

Louis swallows the lump in his throat and forces another smile onto his face. It’s about time he be strong for someone else. 

“You ready?” he asks, cheerfully. His voice cracks a little and he coughs to cover it up. 

Harry still hasn’t said anything. He sits pensively, with a hand spread across each of his knees. 

“Alright, I’ll go first then. The only rule is no yes or no questions.” 

Harry’s replying nod is so small, Louis would have missed it if he wasn’t staring. 

“What’s your favorite color?” Louis asks. He sees the smallest glint in Harry’s eyes then, a spark of interest that wasn’t there before. 

“Blue,” he answers, following his answer with a look of sheer gratitude. 

Louis doesn’t have to try so hard to smile this time. He nudges Harry’s knee with his own, startled when he remembers that he can feel that. It seems Harry is also jolted by the memory, pulling his knee away only a second after Louis’ nudged it. 

“Your turn,” Louis prompts, undeterred. 

“Oh, erm…” Harry pauses, thinking. “Favorite season?” 

“Summer,” Louis chirps back. “Okay, erm. Did you have a favorite toy growing up?” 

“I had a doll, actually.” Harry chuckles, looking ahead, seemingly lost in the memory. “I stole it from my sister so often, my mum just got her a new one to appease her and let me keep it. I carried it with me everywhere for years until the kids in school started telling me it was weird.” 

Louis smiles fondly, “Did your mum ever make you feel weird about that? Or was she supportive?” 

“It’s my turn, Lou.” Harry rolls his eyes, teasingly. 

Louis laughs, “Alright, fine, yeah.” 

“Which of your sisters is your favorite?” Harry asks, the devilish grin Louis’ come to love reappearing on his face. 

Louis squawks, “I can’t answer that!” 

“You said no yes or no questions. Could’ve just asked if you had a favorite but it’s against the rules,” Harry grins. 

“How’d you even know I  _ have  _ sisters?” 

“It’s still my turn!” Harry insists with a laugh. 

Louis giggles, nudging Harry again this time with a shoulder. Instead of shying away from his touch, Harry leans into it, still laughing softly. He rests a head to Louis’ shoulder, and it’s… weird. It’s weird because he can feel some of the curls on the side of Harry’s head on his neck. He can feel the weight of his skull, and while he’s a ghost, and it’s  _ weird _ that he can feel that, it’s also weird that Louis feels well and truly… less alone. 

He tries not to let Harry’s new closeness affect him. He takes a deep breath, lifting his shoulders (and Harry’s head) with it. “You’ve asked me an impossible question. You’ve ruined the game. You should’ve asked for my favorite brother.” 

Harry chuckles, “Do you even have a brother?” 

Louis nods, an easy smile returning, “Yeah. Ernest. He’s two.” 

“Oh, I only know about the older ones. The ones that came to visit?” 

Louis remembers that visit. Lottie and Fizzy had shown up a few months after the funeral. They thought they could get Louis to leave the house if they had surprised him—brightened up his day and life—and instead they came in to find their big brother in one of his worst episodes. That was the week he just kept sleeping. It felt like it was all he had the energy to do. 

“Sorry, shouldn’t have brought that up,” Harry says, very quietly.  

“S’fine,” Louis mutters. And it is, really. It’s finished and in the past.  

“Do you… erm—did you have any sisters?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah, I stole that doll from her, remember?” Harry says, face smushed against Louis’ shoulder. 

“Right, yeah,” Louis nods. “Was she the only one? Younger or older?” 

“Older,” Harry answers. “She was my best friend.” 

“I bet that was nice. I just did a lot of babysitting,” Louis admits.

Harry hums. 

And there it was again. That heaviness, that shift in the air that makes everything feel just a little slower. It’s like just moving forward makes him sore from the exertion. It’s not in the least physical, it’s his heart and mind and soul that feels stretched and pushed too far. It’s those moments, where his heart feels like it’s thudding only because it still can, that Louis feels the itch to glance at the clock. When he aches to know how long it’s been and maybe a part of him is wondering how long it will be. If this time, when he checks the clock, he’ll feel the same shame for his long stint of grief, but it will be followed by some sort of pride. He’s made it this far, and “because it still can” is a perfectly good reason for his heart to keep beating. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks. 

Louis hums, shifting a little to rest his head on top of Harry’s. “Is this your new question?” 

“Yeah,” he whispers, softly. 

“Just… thinking about how long it’s been. And how long it may be before it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.” 

Harry doesn’t speak, but Louis knows his words have done something. It’s like speaking of his grief has given Harry permission to breathe again, and the air comes a little easier to Louis too. He takes a deep breath, and only moves when Harry sits up. Louis watches as he settles in, pushing his hair back on top of his head. 

“Does it still hurt, Harry? For you? After this long?” 

Surprisingly, Harry smiles. It’s a small, sad one, but it reaches his eyes. He chuckles as if any of this could be funny and he nods. “Yeah. It does. And it always will.” 

Louis is about to say something, though he’s not entirely sure what, when Harry finishes with one other thought. 

“It’s supposed to.” 

Louis lets that settle for a moment, taking it in,  _ trying _ to understand. 

“Can I ask you one more question?” Harry asks, suddenly. 

“We’ve hardly reached twenty, you can ask more than one,” Louis quips. 

Harry doesn’t laugh, eyes dark while he asks, “Do you think it’s your fault?” 

Louis thinks long and hard about his answer. He can feel Harry watching him as he bites down on the inside of his cheek and keeps his eyes down. The same familiar sickness curls in his stomach, the familiar  _ would’ve should’ve could’ve _ mantras dart through his mind. And he knows in his head that no it wasn’t, but in his heart the answer has always felt like yes. 

But it’s over. It’s finished and on it’s way to being long gone and he can’t keep giving himself the murder sentence he felt he deserved almost seven months ago. 

“Maybe,” Louis decides. “Maybe it is. I’ll always wonder that. But my life can’t always be the consequence of the end of hers and I know that.” 

“You’re lucky like that,” Harry says. “Your life isn’t over.” 

 

___

 

Things are different after that. Louis finds himself really enjoying Harry’s company for the first time since his arrival. He doesn’t care about the secrets, and he’s accepted that there are some things about Harry’s life before and after that he’s never going to understand. In the meantime, he bakes a mean cake, and his jokes are  _ terrible _ which really makes them top notch. 

And he feels better. He feels less alone. It all still hurts, like a dull thrum under his skin, never ceasing. But if ever he winces from the pain, from a reminder, he’s with someone who understands, and that seems to make all the difference. 

Their evenings are spent mostly laughing. Sharing weird and funny stories from their childhood and learning about their roots and what’s made them who they are. He doesn’t know why Harry can never close his eyes and find peace, and he doesn’t know why Harry’s spent so much time in this flat, and he doesn’t know why Harry’s able to bake him a cake but he isn’t able to taste it. But these days every mystery feels the same. The urgency is gone, as is the fear. 

Louis finds that the most prominent emotion he feels when he’s with Harry is safety. It’ll never be too much or too little for Harry. And Louis only hopes that Harry feels the same with him. He hopes he can feel the way Louis  _ wants _ to know what he sees and what he feels, as much as he loves hearing about Harry the boy scout and about the first time he kissed a boy. 

The touching doesn’t go away either. He finds himself testing it out every once in a while. Reaching for Harry’s hand when he spaces out, lost in some dark thought. Squeezing it when Harry reaches for his. He loves Harry’s hair, and pushes a stray curl out of his eyes all the time, and he almost suspects Harry puts it there so that he will. 

Louis finds it hard to part with him, and one night in particular he admits it. 

“Will you come sleep with me?” 

Harry furrows his brows, “What do you mean?” 

“I need to sleep, but I don’t…” Louis hesitates, but Harry understands. 

He always understands. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll go sleep with you.” 

And that’s how Louis finds himself with a ghost in his bed. Honestly, Louis hadn’t thought of the implications. He’d only wanted to be alone even less of the time. The thing he’d managed to forget is the fact that Harry can feel him. And he can feel Harry. And even though Harry’s mass and weight is still in question, Louis had felt the other side of his bed dip under him. The mattress had creaked as he toed off his shoes and lied down in the place beside Louis. 

Louis accidentally brushes his fingers against Harry’s thigh and quickly pulls it away. It’s the kind of awkward Louis hasn’t experienced with anyone in a long time. 

Louis tries to proceed as if nothing is happening. He shuts off the light on his bedside table and he tries to imagine that this is normal. That it’s happened a million times before and that Louis doesn’t need to feel uncomfortable because it’s just  _ Harry _ . 

It’s that moment when he hears a low laugh from beside him. He turns his head to look at him and finds Harry smiling wide, his eyes closed and he’s shaking his head. 

“What?” Louis asks him. 

“This is weird,” he admits with another laugh. 

This time, Louis laughs with him, and the awkwardness dissipates between them. 

They laugh for a few minutes, glancing at each other occasionally only to start laughing all over again, and once they’ve calmed down Harry lets out a long sigh. 

“Hm?” Louis asks lightly. It hadn’t seemed a troubled noise, and Harry’s eyes are dazzling when he looks Louis square on. 

“You make me feel so fucking human, you know?” Harry says, another giggle immediately following it. “It’s just weird.” 

Louis smiles right back. “Weird how?” 

Harry shakes his head again, still smiling softly. “I feel more with you than I have in I don’t even know how long. The range of emotion is absolutely insane. Like, I told you I’ve been… visiting other places from my human life and like. They all just hurt, you know? The emotional range of a ghost is like… torment and nostalgia and guilt and whatever the fuck else. They’re all so hard to see because they remind me of simpler times but this one just…” 

“Did you live here?” Louis interrupts him, suddenly confused. He’s not totally put out by the new information. It would make sense. 

Harry purses his lips, and hesitates a moment before confirming with a short nod of his head.

Louis lets that sink in. It really only takes a second before he asks a follow up question. “Why do you think this is different?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. It’s a bold faced lie and Louis finds that he doesn’t care at all. 

“What do you… feel here, then?” Louis asks, turning to lie on his side and face him. “What’s different?” 

Louis is completely fixated on Harry where he lies, his gaze locked on Harry’s searching eyes as he finds the words. 

“Everything,” Harry whispers, avoiding Louis’ stare. “I feel everything.”

Louis’ heart begins pounding in his chest, for reasons unbeknownst to him. He remembers Harry’s words only a second ago that he feels… human and there’s a part of him that wants to echo the sentiment. Wants to admit he feels it all too.

His nerves increase tenfold when Harry turns his head and looks at him with a soft face, soft lips, soft eyes. Louis can’t stop himself from reaching out to that damn curl hanging in front of Harry’s eyes. He wants to see the green in them and he wants to… touch. 

His fingers linger at Harry’s forehead a moment, as he slowly brushes the single curl back on his head. He wants to brush his fingers through the rest of Harry’s hair, and he pulls his wrist back a moment to do just that, but Harry grips his wrist instead. Louis freezes and searches Harry’s eyes, and only finds the same softness that was there before. Harry loosens his grip only to move his hand into Louis’ setting them down on the mattress between them. 

“Like what?” Louis asks, voice barely audible. 

“Hm?” Harry asks, his thumb rubbing softly against the back of Louis’ hand. 

“Like… what does everything entail?” Louis clarifies, only barely increasing his volume. 

“Oh, just…” Harry starts, eyes darting from Louis’ to their clasped hands and back again. “I mean, the bad stuff is still there but I feel… comfort, too. And I’d forgotten how nice it is to really  _ laugh _ . And…” 

Louis notes the way Harry avoids his gaze in the last second, he senses some embarrassment, and it only spurs him more quickly to ask, “And what?” 

Harry exhales and meets Louis’ eyes in a way that renders him stupid. Louis feels his lips part just as Harry quietly admits, “Desire.” 

“Oh,” Louis breathes, stupidly. 

And then Harry moves a bit closer, and only pauses as he starts to tangle their feet together. “I um… Is that… okay?” 

Louis doesn’t dare look away, he doesn’t dare move a single muscle except what’s required to say, “Definitely.” 

And that is all the permission Harry needs before bringing an arm atop Louis’ middle, facing him on his side. Harry pulls his arm back a little and splays his hand across Louis’ waist, and from there he drags his hand slowly down the line of him. He stops at the top of Louis’ most prominent curve and every surface of Louis’ skin erupts under his cold touch. Louis feels helpless and overwhelmed under Harry’s undivided attention, forcing himself to meet Harry’s eyes every now and then only to be forced away by the sheer intensity of his stare. 

Louis lifts a hand from where Harry had left it on the mattress and feels this insistent stirring to do the same, to reach out and touch. He does, starting with Harry’s stomach, dragging his fingertips from the bottom of his chest all the way to his waistline, the press of his fingers becoming lighter all the way down until he lifts them. He feels Harry’s hand move from the swell of his bum back to his waist and then chest, rubbing softly with the pad of his thumb as his palm lifts and lands on various parts of him. 

It’s… intimate, the way Harry’s exploring him, unwavering in his stare. There’s not even anything outright sexual about the way he’s being touched and yet, Louis feels completely immersed in it, can feel the arousal beginning to pool at the pit of his stomach. 

Louis then brings a hand to Harry’s face, cupping it in his palm and mimicking Harry’s movements, rubbing his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. He feels like maybe he should say something. Like he should warn Harry that he’s feeling something similar, maybe more heated than what Harry may have been suggesting. 

As though Harry could sense Louis’ words, his warning, Harry props himself up a little higher on his elbow and forearm and lands his other palm to Louis’ waist with a sense of finality—pulling Louis closer, and making it impossible for Louis to say anything at all.

Louis sighs a little, almost relieved when Harry finally moves, so he’s hovering slightly above Louis’ mouth, lips parted and ready. 

Harry squeezes Louis’ waist gently, and moves his hand to the small of his back and pulls him closer when his lips finally find Louis’ in a searing kiss. There’s nothing soft about it, the way he renders Louis absolutely useless under his touch. Louis’ amazed at how pliant he is, willing and ready to bend to Harry’s every touch. 

It’s still cold, only every graze of his lips, every swipe of his tongue burns, the way ice does if you hold it too long. It burns, but Louis can’t help the way he kisses back just as fiercely, can’t help when he places a leg on top of Harry’s just to get closer, just to taste more, just to  _ feel _ him because it burns but somehow it’s  _ soothing.  _

Every touch is tentative and like a balm to Louis’ skin. He thinks for maybe the millionth time in Harry’s presence that this should  _ terrify _ him. It should be enough to motivate him to check himself into a mental hospital, but right now nothing feels  _ wrong _ . In fact, Louis’ never felt so right in all his life, getting closer and kissing harder, and not even  _ attempting _ to conceal the way his cock is slowly starting to fill up under Harry’s thorough and attentive embrace. 

Eventually, the way they’re facing each other, heads barely supported by Louis’ pillows, becomes cumbersome, and Harry pulls his leg from under Louis’. He stops kissing Louis for only a minute to swing his leg on top of Louis, and pushes himself up so he’s straddling him. He makes quick work of reattaching his lips to Louis’ jaw, leaving soft, heated pecks, down to his neck. 

Louis can’t stop the breathy moans that keep escaping his mouth, especially now that Harry’s body is practically on top of his. When Harry just barely grinds down on him, Louis thinks he’s going to combust he’s so hot. Harry goes again, pressing his cock into Louis’ in a circular motion, and Louis is helpless to stop the deep moan he releases. 

Louis is embarrassingly hard at this point and if Harry doesn’t slow down he’s worried he may come in his pants. What’s more embarrassing still is that Harry doesn’t seem to be hard at all. While he’s managed to completely forego the erection, Louis feels like his is big enough for the two of them. He bites back another moan and brings a hand to Harry’s shoulder, prompting his attention. 

“Harry,” he says, immediately horrified at how strained his voice is. 

“Hm?” Harry asks, making diligent work at a bruise on Louis’ collarbone. 

“Are you hard?” Louis asks. 

Harry hums again, lifting his head, and kissing Louis softly on the lips before he says, “No. M’not.” 

Louis frowns, still meeting Harry’s lips with every gentle peck. “Am I not…” 

“No, you are,” Harry says quickly. “You  _ really _ are. I just can’t do that anymore.” 

Harry seems entirely too dismissive of the topic, quickly redirecting his attention to Louis’ cock, placing a firm grip over the top of his pants. Louis makes another humiliating sound and shakes his head, “Stop a second.” 

Harry pulls a hand back, lightning fast and meets Louis’ eyes. Louis smiles, grateful for his attention, though still entirely too overwhelmed. 

“You can’t do what anymore?” 

Harry shrugs, reaching again for Louis’ hand. Louis’ grateful for the touch—it’s grounding. His head is spinning, but he tries to listen closely to Harry’s answer. 

“I don’t have any actual like, fluids in here,” Harry smiles, with a smidge of his own embarrassment. It’s nice that Louis’ not the only one feeling self conscious, but he hates how  _ calm _ Harry is, while he can’t seem to make his heart slow down.

“I don’t really know why, honestly.” Harry admits. “I’ve never been able to touch a human like this before so this is new for me, too. But that’s the only reason I can really come up with.” 

Harry lies back down in the spot beside Louis and kisses his shoulder, “I’m enjoying it, I promise. It just doesn’t show… or grow.” 

Louis laughs at that, shaking his head fondly at the terrible joke. 

“I’m um,” Harry swallows, staring again straight into Louis’ eyes, “I’m really glad you seem to be… that you… I think you like it.” 

Louis laughs again, “You think? My dick knows.” 

Harry grins at that, eyes sparkling and dimple coming out to play.

Louis really likes this. Really likes  _ Harry _ . 

“Can I...” Harry starts, his eyes darting to Louis’ lips. He can  _ feel _ Harry’s hungry gaze and the sensation immediately reminds him of how achingly hard he is. 

Louis nods and suddenly nothing is funny anymore. Harry reaches into his pants and Louis forgets to think about anything other than how good it feels.

Louis spares a thought for how  _ pitiful  _ it is, the way Harry’s gentle strokes are enough to drive him absolutely mad, and have him shooting his load mere minutes later. Harry’s attention is immovable every second before and after Louis comes. His touch heavy with intent, and his gaze filled with purpose and an affection that hadn’t been there before. Louis feels dizzy and exhausted, and when he’s done, he soaks in Harry’s attention like a sponge, immediately moving closer and nuzzling into his neck. 

Harry doesn’t hesitate to pull him closer, readjusting so that they lie side by side, allowing Louis to rest his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Will you sleep?” Louis asks, softly, the heaviness of his own eyes quickly pulling him under. 

Harry shakes his head, “No. But I’ll be right here.” 

“Good,” Louis whispers. 

He feels Harry squeeze his hand gently, and for the first time in a long time when Louis falls asleep, he doesn’t dream. 

 

___

 

Louis wakes up the same as he fell asleep which is unusual for him. He’s been known to toss and turn and wake up with his pillows on the other side of the bed. Instead he wakes up with a crick in his neck from resting on Harry’s shoulder all night, and swollen eyes that aren’t quite ready to be opened. 

He hums a little, rubbing his eyes and feels Harry, still unmoving beneath him. He lifts his head and finds Harry… asleep? He looks it. If Louis weren’t aware of what exactly Harry is, he’d wonder if he’s dead. He’s lying completely still, with his eyes shut, arms resting at his sides. Louis recalls the time he’d thought Harry was sleeping before, when he rested on the floor in the hallway. He remembers the way his hands were resting on the floor, palms open toward the sky, and his mouth slightly parted. He’d looked exhausted. 

This is different. As a ghost, Louis assumes that Harry is a spirit, but the being next to him seems to be completely absent. Empty, as it were. And Louis wonders for moments at a time if this is some kind of vessel. If Harry has left him and is asking him to dispose of yet another body in his flat. Louis feels sick, his stomach twisting and turning as he watches Harry remain completely still. 

Louis didn’t expect it to hurt this much, when Harry disappeared. He knows it will happen in due time, but this is just… cruel. The thought that he’d have liked to say goodbye flashes through his mind, and Louis’ swollen eyes sting with fresh tears. 

It’s too soon to be feeling this again. 

And that’s when Harry’s eyes shoot open. 

Louis gasps, and jumps backward as Harry sits straight up, gasping for air. He heaves, back hunched forward with his head in his hands as Louis watches. 

“Harry?” Louis asks in a tentative rasp. 

Harry jolts a little at the sound, glancing behind him, and Louis hates what he sees. 

He can feel the fear, and in that split second glance, Louis can see it too. Clear as day. 

Louis sits up and slowly reaches out to Harry, gripping both of his shoulders gently and giving them a reassuring squeeze before he moves to rub his back. Louis can feel the gentle shake of his shoulders then and he knows—he can practically  _ see _ what Harry’s just seen. 

“Did you see it?” he asks, mostly to give him the chance to talk if he needs it. Mostly to assure him he understands and remind him he’s there. 

Harry shakes his head, “Not yet.” 

A shudder moves up his spine as he tries again to catch his breath, breathing in and out very slowly. 

“Soon.” 

Louis nods, even though Harry’s not quite looking at him. And then he feels his mind and heart fill with sickly dread at experiencing this morning all over again. “Will you…” 

He doesn’t finish his question. It feels wrong to worry about it. 

Harry sits up a little straighter, and Louis takes in the sight of him. He really is beautiful. Louis watches as Harry blinks quickly, and finds him missing that mischievous dimple. Louis wonders against his own will if he’ll ever see that again. Or if it’s time now. Time for Harry to face what brought him here and rediscover his next home. 

It feels like an answer when Harry wordlessly moves from Louis’ embrace and stands up from the bed. Louis watches him go and wonders what’s behind his glassy eyes. He wonders what he’s seeing right now. 

Louis has to go to work, but he’s hesitant to leave Harry like this. He doesn’t feel good about what he may come home to find. He feels worse at the idea of finding nothing and no one at all. 

Louis gets up anyway. He has to go. He’s almost certain that Harry would rather mourn alone anyway. He knows how desperately he had wanted to. 

Once he’s dressed and ready, he finds Harry, completely spaced out, sitting directly in front of Frankie’s bedroom door. It’s still hard, to be close to that place, but Louis pushes through to lean down beside him. 

“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m going to work. I don’t know how you can like, reach me… if you, erm… need anything?” 

Harry doesn’t acknowledge him. It feels like speaking to someone in a coma. Louis remembers it well. The sheer curtain placed around him in his darkest hours, the way it felt like anything and everything was just too far out of reach. He couldn’t speak, or eat, or… anything. Louis swallows. 

He wonders a moment, if this is what it felt like for Harry to watch all those months ago. If those times Louis felt  _ something _ , it had been Harry trying to be there. It’s a comfort to him, that maybe Harry just can’t see him right now. Maybe he can still feel him. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, leaning forward to place a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. 

 

___

 

It’s funny, because Louis has actually been haunted in his lifetime. Haunted by an  _ actual _ supernatural being who prefers to call it ‘visiting’. And yet Louis has never felt so relentlessly pursued by a spirit before this point. Something awful has been sitting under his skin all day, to the point of physically scratching at his hands and arms because he can’t shake the feeling. 

He thinks back to Harry’s explanation, that he’s particularly sensitive to the supernatural and he wonders time and time again if this is Harry reaching out for help. He wonders if he should go home about a million times. 

Liam frowns a lot at lunch and Louis knows it’s because he looks as distracted as he feels. His brain feels a mess, partially here and partially there and somewhere in between questioning every single thought running from one end to the other. 

And the very second the clock strikes five, Louis is bolting out the door. His entire trip home is fraught with worry and he still finds himself scratching his arms on the tube. Louis attempts to stay very calm on his way there. He tries to take deep breaths and brace himself for the worst, even though he’s almost certain he’ll only find what he left. He closes his eyes and sees Harry sitting on the floor in his hallway, and his heart aches a bit, but he knows. It feels urgent because there’s little he can do but be there. He only hopes his presence is a comfort, or wanted at all. 

When the tube stops, Louis takes off at a sprint. He bumps a few people along the way, muttering useless apologies as he makes his way home. He’s almost there, his heart beating hard against his chest, as he runs. Soon. He’ll be there so soon. 

At last Louis finds his front door, he finds the staircase and he fumbles with his keys—dropping them twice—and hurries through the door. 

He pushes the door shut behind him and tries to stop his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He’s here. 

Where is Harry? 

Louis swallows, feet stuck to the floor. His heart rate has slowed significantly at this point. It feels almost as though it’s stopped altogether, and Louis doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this one bit. He doesn’t like how still the air feels around him. This moment feels stagnant.

He doesn’t like the way it feels familiar. The way his stomach is churning because something here doesn’t feel  _ right.  _ In fact, it’s only ever felt so  _ wrong _ once in his entire life. 

Louis swallows a giant lump in his throat and chances the step forward. One step ordinarily would put Harry right in view, but there is no sign of him. And against Louis’ better judgement, the sheer alarm he feels pushes him forward and only a few steps later, he sees exactly what’s caused the imbalance. 

Her door is open. 

Something pushes rapidly through Louis then, be it a high dose of fear, adrenaline, or rage, he isn’t sure. It feels like it all hits him at the exact same time as he runs straight to the only place that’s ever made him run like this before. He stops outside the room and with a shaky breath in, Louis places a hand on the door. 

He barely touches it at all before it slowly swings open, and the sight that awaits him on the other side brings him to his knees. 

“Are you fucking  _ kidding _ me,” Louis cries, helplessly. 

Louis approaches Harry’s still figure on the floor, crawling across, tears dripping off his face onto the floor. 

“This can’t be happening,” he whispers in complete disbelief. He bends over, resting a head on Harry’s side and cries. He cries all the tears he didn’t know how to shed the first time this happened to him and he stays right there, hunched over Harry’s body and sobs until he can’t anymore. He weeps until he’s wheezing, his breaths catching in his throat as he tries to say something, anything. Though he’s sure that if Harry needed waking, his crying would have done that a long time ago. 

It’s different, but somehow the same. The disbelief, the shock, the ache, the  _ guilt _ it’s all fucking  _ there _ coursing through Louis’ veins so fast it burns. The only difference, the staggering truth, is that Louis had not once imagined this happening again. Not to him and not to Harry. 

He feels completely blindsided by it. And maybe it’s the shock, or something else that finally forces Louis to sit up and look around. He didn’t want to visit this place. 

The room is emptier than he remembers. Of course, none of her things are really there anymore. Just some posters still hung on the walls. Just a small table that didn’t fit in her parents truck. 

Just a little plastic bag sat open on the floor beside Harry, that makes Louis’ entire body deflate. 

It’s too much. Louis doesn’t know how to just… accept it. In fact, a stubborn part of his mind absolutely refuses to, and it’s that part that prompts him to shake Harry’s shoulders. He doesn’t shake hard, just enough to stir him, enough to get him to open his eyes and tell him that none of this was real. He needs a goodbye, an apology,  _ anything _ that’s not this cruel reality. 

He’s partially aware of the way his body is shaking, only because his breathing is so labored by it. He hiccups before another sob pushes its way up his chest and he leans heavily on Harry’s body. Surprised by how solid and real it feels under his weight. 

“It’s not fair,” he whispers helplessly, his sobs choking the words back. Stubborn as always, Louis decides he won’t let him have the last word. “It’s not fair that you would  _ do  _ this to me again. I thought—I” Louis’ breath shudders against his will, he tries to breathe deeply, tries to say the words, but cries again in frustration. “I just thought you understood. I never…”

And then Louis gives up. He doesn’t need the last word. Not now that he’s realized that he’s lost, really. When it’s all said and done. He’s lost everything. 

His best friend and then his sanity. And what does he have left? This sole source of comfort. This… Harry. 

But Harry’s a traitor.

Louis cries so hard his ribs hurt, and his mouth is dry, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Someone came to take Frankie away and Louis can’t… he can’t call anyone and if someone came for Harry’s what would he say? How would he explain he doesn’t know the surname of this beautiful boy laid to rest in his flat?

Louis’ eyes overflow again at all he’d yet to know about him. About how he’d let Harry care for him, and how he seems to have neglected to show him he wanted to care for Harry too. 

Another person he’s let down. Another failure… 

Louis backs away from Harry then. He wipes furiously at his eyes and shakes his head.  _ No _ . It’s over. Harry was a  _ ghost _ he was already  _ dead. _ Louis doesn’t need to mourn him this way. He doesn’t need to… there is  _ love _ in his life. He’s been very good at ignoring it, but it’s there. And Harry’s ghost will… stay here. It will stay and Louis will never open this door again. As it always should have been. 

Louis takes another shuddering breath in, irritated again at the way his body betrays him. The way it makes it impossible to just shove it all under a rug. His hands shake as he hurriedly pushes his hair out of his eyes and he takes another look at Harry’s still, lifeless figure. 

“Thanks for, erm… being there, I guess.” Louis says. His voice cracks and he winces at the sound. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, biting his lip as the fresh tears fall down his face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you either.” 

Louis turns around and moves to the door. He needs to get out of here. Maybe he should go for a run, or he should go see Liam. He should see anyone, just… he can’t be alone right now. Not anymore. 

He thinks to himself that he can’t fucking wait to never touch this door knob ever again when he hears a shuffling behind him. 

There’s a small, tired groan and a moments delay before he hears a small, “Lou?” 

And though moments ago, Louis had wanted nothing more than for Harry to stir, to wake and wish him farewell, all he can be bothered to feel anymore is a seething rage. His shaking hands clench into fists at his sides and Louis turns around very slowly, to find a disgruntled Harry. Wiping at his eyes, as if he’s woken from a peaceful nap, while Louis has been… 

He feels sick. His stomach twists and turns and he wonders what there is to say at a moment like this. He wonders how the fuck he’s supposed to look at Harry the same when he’s betrayed him this way. Why the  _ fuck  _ would a ghost need to get high anyway? 

“Lou…” Harry says, gently, tentatively. It’s clear that he has no fucking idea what’s happened. “Are you okay?”

“What the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?” Louis asks him, voice squeaking. He sounds altogether terrified and not at all intimidating and it only serves to make him more angry. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks with a furrowed brow and genuine concern. 

Louis gestures coldly to the floor, and this time all he feels is disgust. Disgust that someone like Harry, someone who’s  _ been _ there would stoop so low. He just can’t believe that Harry would ever touch something like that again when he knows. He’s supposed to  _ know _ . 

When Harry looks to the side, sparing a glance at the floor, Louis watches as he realizes what has happened. Harry’s eyes become very wide and he looks up at Louis, horrified, and back at the floor. 

“Oh my god,” Harry whispers. “Oh my god, Lou.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Louis spits. He turns again, movements quick and sharp as he walks out of the room with finality, slamming the door shut behind him. 

He wishes he could just stop crying, he wishes he could channel all this rage into something threatening. He wants to scream, or throw up. He wants to hit something, hit Harry even. He just wants to get the pain  _ out _ instead of letting it run in rapid circles from his stomach to his brain and back again. He doesn’t have the room for so much all at once. It has to come out. 

He hears the damn door open again, and Harry’s quick pace around the corner to his living room. 

“Louis, please let me explain—” Harry says, hurriedly. 

“No,” Louis shouts back. He grabs at the pillow beside him and squeezes it tight. Wishing and praying that Harry would vanish. Louis gets it now. He’s learned his lesson and he needs  _ help _ and he’ll get it but he can’t be with all these fucking  _ ghosts _ anymore. Not when all they do is hurt him and force him to live his worst memories again and again and again. He doesn’t  _ deserve _ this. 

“Louis,” Harry says, approaching his bed, reaching out desperately for him. 

“Don’t fucking  _ touch  _ me,” Louis spits back, standing quickly from his bed. He throws the pillow he’d been gripping in Harry’s direction. He misses but it’s at least provided enough distraction for him to escape to the living room. He heads for the door, and pushes his shoes on. 

“Lou,” Harry says, voice hushed from the hallway. 

Louis looks up at him then, and lets Harry see. He doesn’t withhold an ounce of the raw emotion, the mourning, the rage, the embarrassment, the  _ guilt _ , from his gaze. He holds Harry’s for a long time, and watches as Harry’s eyes well up with tears of his own. 

He doesn’t break Harry’s gaze for a long time. There’s much to say, but much that doesn’t need to be said at all. Not when Harry knows what’s happened here tonight. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispers, letting his tears drip off his chin onto the floor. 

Louis feels his face twist, and his stomach dip, and his eyes fill with tears again, and it’s then that Louis feels like looking away. It’s then that Louis can’t really stomach to let Harry see anymore. 

He doesn’t spare a single word, as he grabs his keys and leaves, locking the door behind him. 

  
___

  
Louis knew where he was going as soon as he stepped outside. He let his feet carry him to the exact place he wanted them to. It was getting dark, and he should have grabbed a coat, but none of that made him turn around or take the tube or whatever else he could have done to make his life a little easier. Louis kept his feet moving, one in front of the other all the way to this very door. 

He needs help. He knows that. What he doesn’t know is how one goes about asking for it. 

A brief, firm knock is all that stands between him and a beginning. It’s time. He knows that. Only it goes against every instinct he has to seek something he’s so vehemently denied for this long. 

A second later, he realizes he doesn’t know how long that is. 

The second after that, Liam opens the door. 

“Hey,” Liam greets, smile sincere, but careful as he reaches out to Louis. 

Louis takes a step forward and seeks Liam’s touch out. He extends an arm, touching Liam’s side first and tugging him as best he can. Liam picks up his cue soon enough, and pulls Louis into a warm hug. 

It would seem the crying is here to stay. Louis hasn’t been able to completely rid himself of the tears, no matter how hard he tries. And as he lets himself sink into Liam’s warmth, he leaves a small puddle on his shoulder. 

What he doesn’t expect is to feel the tearful shake of Liam’s shoulder under his cheek. Liam sniffles and loosens his hold for a moment, gesturing to the door, and wiping at his eyes. 

Louis nods, and takes that last step inside as Liam shuts the door behind him. 

Louis gains his bearings as much as he can, wiping at his sore eyes and trying to find something to focus on. He doesn’t feel all there at the moment, and for the first time in a while it matters. He wants to be here right now. 

“Have a seat, Lou,” Liam says, patting the couch as he passes. “Do you want some tea? I was just making some.” 

Louis nods, and does as he’s told, settling into the corner of Liam’s couch. He takes a good look at the curtains hanging across from him, noting their color and trying to remember if they were there the last time he was here. It’s likely they were, but the last time Louis had been actively trying to be elsewhere. 

He looks at the rug and the coffee table, and sees a dirty mug sitting on the far corner. He takes deep breaths and he waits. He pulls his knees to his chest and exhales deliberately between his knees. He has to stay calm. He’s safe here. 

“Here ya go,” Liam says lightly, handing off a mug to Louis from above. Louis takes it in his hands and clutches it tightly. He’d forgotten how cold he was until something warm was there to fight it off. 

Louis takes a seat in the recliner just adjacent of him, and looks at him kindly. Louis almost feels like crying again. It feels like Liam is just happy he’s here and that’s… not surprising, but the most comforting thing he could have given him. 

“How’d you know I was outside?” Louis asks, suddenly, remembering how the door had opened without his prompting. 

Liam frowns then, confused, or concerned, or both. “I buzzed you up.” 

“Oh,” Louis says, “Right.” 

“How are you, Lou?” Liam asks, sincerely. “You look tired.” 

Louis nods, “I am.” 

Liam nods and sips his tea. 

The thing about Liam is that he’s always been very good at silence. He doesn’t have to say anything at all, but his intent is always crystal clear. Louis, on the other hand, is not good at silence. His strength has always been filling them. And he thinks that’s how he and Liam became such good friends. 

Now he can’t help but resent it a little. The way Liam doesn’t necessarily  _ expect _ him to explain, but his silence welcomes it. It’s open and waiting and again Louis reminds himself that he’s safe here. And so he does what he does best. 

“Li, I’m so tired of the ghosts,” he sighs. The words pass his lips and he feels relieved somehow, to be able to share them. “I’m tired of reliving my worst nightmare over and over.” 

Liam nods, unassuming. 

“I’ve never felt so alone in all my life, but it’s like I can’t get a moment to myself half the time. There’s always… someone… there.” Louis doesn’t know how much to say. He’s safe, but he also doesn’t know if he wants Liam to know exactly what’s been going on. 

“Fran?” Liam asks, simply. “Or someone else?” 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t even know anymore.” 

Liam hums, but doesn’t continue. He opens the floor again, waiting patiently for Louis to continue whenever he’s ready. 

Louis may never be ready for what he says next, “It feels like it’s all my fault.” 

The moments that pass afterwards don’t feel like silence at all. The weight of his words fills every inch of space in the room. 

Louis swallows down the lump in his throat, “It felt like it was my fault when I found her. And it feels like it’s my fault that it’s all still there. And I feel like I’ll never get better because I’ll never be able to stop… hurting myself.” 

“How are you hurting yourself?” 

“I hate myself, Liam.” Louis whispers. “I hate that I knew she was hurting but I just let it be. I hate that I took her out that one fucking night with me, and I hate that I just… I just let it happen. All of it.” 

Another silence. 

“And then she was just gone, Li. She was gone, and she wasn’t even dead yet and I just… I really fucking missed her but I never told her.” Louis chokes a little, “I never told her how beautiful she was. And how  _ important _ she was to me. I just watched her fucking crash and burn and then it was too late. And I’ve fucking… I’ve counted the  _ hours _ since she’s been gone. Every hour that passes and I don’t feel any better and I’ve been. I’ve felt sick for knowing, and sick at the idea of forgetting for even a second that she’s not here and that it’s all my fault.” 

Liam waits a moment before he asks, “How long has it been then?” 

Louis feels his breath catch in his throat, a fresh wave of tears pouring out of him as he admits, “I don’t know anymore.” 

“As in you lost count?” 

Louis nods, a small whine escapes, paving the way for his weeping. 

Liam leans forward out of his chair and sets his mug on the table with a soft clink. He stands from his seat and reaches over Louis’ knees for his tea mug. Louis lets him take it and feels the couch dip beside him as Liam settles in beside him. His body shifts from the added weight, so it’s not entirely his fault he ends up cuddled close to Liam’s side. Especially when Liam wraps an arm around his shoulders, and invites him to. 

He can’t believe he forgot. And what’s worse is that he can’t believe he forgot, and that it still hurts this much. He thought, on some level, that someday he’d stop caring about the time that had passed. Naively, he’d hoped to wake up one morning and not even think about it. That it would be gone and Louis would be finally at peace. 

Instead he feels worse. He feels knotted up inside and out. That urge he felt earlier, to scream, or lash out, is returning. It truly hurts, his chest and the front of his head feel like they have a pulse of their own, beating Louis relentlessly and reminding him that this life is his and it’s full of pain. 

“It’s okay, Lou,” Liam says softly. 

It’s really not. But the sentiment is nice all the same. 

“You can’t keep track forever. You have a life to be living, love.” 

The laugh that bubbles out of Louis, is a shock to both of them. Liam lifts his head and looks at Louis with wide, amused eyes. Louis giggles again, even though it hurts his throat a little, “Did you just call me love?” 

Liam grins, though he still seems mildly affronted. “What? You call me love all the time.” 

“That’s like, my thing, Liam. You never call people love, it’s weird.” 

Liam rolls his eyes, “I can call you whatever I want.” 

“Not if it doesn’t suit you, no,” Louis challenges, just to do it. It’s comforting, to rib Liam, even though every laugh hurts a little, reminding him why he’s here in the first place. 

“You’re such a shit,” Liam laughs. 

“There you are,” Louis grins. “That’s the Liam I know and love.” 

Liam pauses, a fond smile on his face, “You too.” 

“Hm?” 

“The Louis I know and love and have missed like crazy was just here a second ago,” Liam says. “You haven’t proper made fun of me in ages.” 

Louis smiles, “Yeah, well. I haven’t been paying much attention to you. I’m sure you’ve been just as annoying as usual all this time.” 

Liam laughs and reaches forward for Louis’ tea mug and hands it to him. He scoots away a little to face him and smiles. “So, while you’re here can I, um. Ask you something?” 

Louis takes a deep breath, paying careful attention to the way the air fills and then leaves his lungs. He sips his tea and wipes his wet cheeks and nods. 

“Well, it’s not a question, actually. It’s just… I really think you should consider moving. You don’t have to get a place all your own if you don’t want to. I, erm. I have plenty of space for you here and I just…” Liam pauses for a breath. “I really don’t want to watch you drown yourself in there anymore.” 

Louis can see the months of worrying all over his face. Liam doesn’t quite meet his eyes after he says it, be it to let it sink in, or to allow Louis to respond however he chooses. 

Louis remembers the last time they’d had a conversation like this. He remembers the way he had recoiled from any and all suggestions that took him away from that place and he knows that’s ultimately why he’s here. He can’t be there anymore, not after… everything. 

“I know, it’s a lot right now. I understand why you’re so attached…” Liam starts.

Louis frowns, shaking his head just enough to stop Liam from continuing. “You’re right, though. You’re right that I can’t… I can’t just keep being there. It hurts, Li.” 

It hurts enough that Louis’ been… hallucinating? Conjuring other dead spirits that are as fucked up as he is? Letting them comfort him, be comforted, and touch him. Louis feels a little sick at the memory. It’s unbelievable that only a day ago, Louis had felt real peace while Harry touched him. And now the memory makes him nauseous. 

“What do you want to do?” Liam asks him. Like it’s all that simple. 

And maybe it is. 

“You sure you don’t mind having me here?”

Liam confirms, explaining how he’s thought of ways to rearrange and fit all his things. And Louis doesn’t feel any better. There’s no real relief. And he thinks that’s why asking for help is so hard. Because sometimes the question comes out of desperation and the gamble isn’t reassuring. Is he asking the right person? He thinks of the alternative and winces again at the memory of big, sorry eyes and an empty plastic bag on the floor. 

People will always disappoint. They will always fall short of what we’ve made of them. 

Liam is good but even he can’t be good all the time. 

_ You make me feel so fucking human. _

And no matter what his body is made of, Louis knows this to be true. Harry is one of the most fallible ghosts Louis could ever have met. Too smart, too sweet, too good, until it all came crashing down in an instant. 

And maybe the worst part is that he’s made Louis feel human too. 

 

___

 

Louis sleeps at Liam’s that night. Surprisingly, Liam doesn’t make him talk it out. It was a relief until Louis was left alone in the dark of Liam’s living room. As he lied on his back on the couch, he kept himself awake wondering why. 

The part Louis just can’t wrap his head around is how Harry could turn to something like that when he’s supposed to get it. He knows what it’s like to lose someone before they’re even gone. He knows what it’s like to be the one to find their lifeless body. He knows what that must have been like for Louis to find someone he loves like that for the  _ second _ time. 

And yes, the whys have done their fair share of poking around in his brain, but it’s the other thing that makes it almost impossible for Louis to rest.

He’s felt something with Harry. Some of the intensity of those feelings, he thinks, are due to having felt nothing outside of his grief for so long. He doesn’t want to think his relationship with Harry is more than it is: a reassurance. But despite the insanity of the situation, it’s made Louis feel a little  _ less  _ crazy. Like his feelings have been completely justified the entire time. 

Somehow, he’d felt that he may have owed Harry something. Like his presence was in his control, and that he’d been there just for Louis’ sake. And then he remembers that all the signs had been there, all the secrets, and the moodiness. Harry had even said that he wasn’t sure why he was there.

It wasn’t to comfort Louis at all. 

Louis does sleep, eventually, but it’s fitful. When he wakes, his eyes hurt and he already knows he’s going to call in sick from work. He has a lot of packing to do. 

 

___

 

Louis takes the tube home this time. He doesn’t think too much about what awaits him, his plan is already cemented in his mind. Harry is dead to him. And he’s a ghost so he was always dead to begin with. He’s there to deal with his own baggage, and Louis will let him do just that. He’s got his own shit to deal with anyway. 

So when he walks into his flat and finds it empty, he’s too surprised to be relieved. He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, surveying everything he’s going to have to put in storage. Regardless of what Liam says, they don’t need  _ two _ kitchen tables. The distraction is nice, but it doesn’t stop him from tensing up at every corner he turns. He knows he could run into Harry at any second, and regardless of his decision, ignoring him won’t be  _ easy _ . 

Louis feels the familiar chill and sense of dread when he turns the corner in the hallway, heading for his bedroom. He shudders and knows Harry’s here, but when he turns around, he’s nowhere to be seen. Louis wonders if maybe he’s reverted back to invisibility. If this is the last phase of his time here before he moves to his next visit. It would make sense. 

Unfortunately, Louis is wrong. Louis opens his bedroom door to find Harry fast asleep under his covers. 

He’s  _ really _ asleep this time, because Louis can see the steady rise and fall of his chest. It’s odd, but Louis doesn’t think much of it. Instead, he feels irritated. He wants to believe it’s because he had been hoping not to see Harry at all, but a small part of him is relieved to find Harry’s still here. His head is all over the place and it’s that dazed and confused feeling that has Louis the most irritated. 

Louis toys with the idea of waking Harry up. He thinks of what he’d say and how he’d confront him or tell him to get out. He remembers the big apologetic eyes Harry had pointed at him the night before and decides maybe he doesn’t quite have the resolve for that. 

Louis feels a little stronger than he did a week ago, but he knows himself and he knows how little it would take to bring him back down. Harry had nearly done it just hours ago. Louis can’t return to that devastating grief again. Frankie wouldn’t want him to. 

So Louis harrumphs and heads to his closet and starts sorting through his clothes. His plan is to be packed and ready by the end of the week. 

It’s only a few days that he has to pretend Harry isn’t in his bed, in his mind, in his heart. 

A few days to be cold and dismissive. A few days until he can breathe again. 

The peace and quiet is short lived, and Louis winces at the sound of a large box that falls from the top shelf of his closet. He had meant to pull it down, but had forgotten its size. The items inside shuffle together and when the box lands with a loud  _ thump _ , Louis hears a shuffling behind him. 

He keeps his gaze straight ahead, reminding himself to act as though no one is there. He can’t give Harry an  _ inch _ . Not if he can help it. 

“Louis?” says a croaky voice from behind him. He sounds sleepy and confused, which is… different. 

Louis doesn’t react, he just starts putting some of the loose objects on his floor, trying to make room in the box. He’ll look through this shit eventually, but for now he needs to pack the necessities. 

“Hi,” Harry interrupts. 

Louis purses his lips, determinedly keeping his eyes down and focused on folding his clothes. 

“Are you… okay?” Harry asks, though he seems to regret it only a moment later. 

It’s a stupid fucking question and Louis wants to answer it anyway. Wants to tell him of course he’s not and start with the confrontation he’d considered a moment ago. 

He doesn’t, and when he runs out of clothes in this pile to fold, he starts pulling more from his hangers into a mess on the floor to be folded. 

“What can you…” Harry starts, confused. “Can you see me? Hear me?” 

Louis rolls his eyes. He can’t help it at that one. “Of course I fucking can.” 

“Oh, thank god,” Harry exhales. “Lou, listen—”    
  
“Nope. I’m ignoring you,” he announces. He tries to ignore the way Harry completely deflates beside him. 

“Louis,” he whispers. “I am  _ so _ sorry, okay? You have to listen to me.” 

“I don’t have to fucking listen to anything,” Louis snaps. He throws down the shirt he’d been folding and stands up. “You betrayed me Harry. You betrayed  _ yourself _ . You know that shit isn’t good for  _ anybody _ . And you just… No.” Louis stops, taking a resigned breath. “I owe you absolutely nothing. You know what you fucking did. So get out of my face. In fact, get out of my flat—out of my fucking  _ life _ .”

Louis wants to storm out and so he does. He leaves Harry’s presence and slams his own bedroom door. It defeats his request that Harry get out, but it makes a point nonetheless. 

The anger coursing through him is overwhelming. The worst of it is this need to do  _ something _ and having no idea what that even would look like. He can’t actually leave because this is  _ his flat _ , but he doesn’t think Harry can either. And it would seem Harry doesn’t have even an ounce of respect for Louis’ boundaries because it’s only moments later that he emerges from Louis’ bedroom. 

“Louis just fucking  _ listen  _ to me, will you?” he cries out helplessly as he turns the corner. 

“No!” Louis yells. It’s childish, but he doesn’t know how else to react. He never thought he’d have to resort to throwing a tantrum, but if it means that Harry gets the message, he’ll keep doing it. 

“Lou, please,” Harry pleads. 

Louis keeps his back turned to him as he starts pulling things from his cupboards. He doesn’t even have any boxes and he’s so unprepared for it all, but he’ll be damned if Harry distracts him from his new beginning. He needs this. 

“What are you even doing?” Harry asks, sitting down at the kitchen table. He crosses his legs and sits back and looks too comfortable for Louis’ liking. 

“Moving,” he admits, words small. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks succinctly. 

“I mean I’m getting out of this flat. I can’t live like this anymore.” Louis says, and he wants to rip his eyes out if it would just make the tears stop. He’s over all the crying. He just wants to be okay—just wants Harry to leave him  _ alone _ . 

“You can’t do that,” Harry says in quiet disbelief. “You can’t just… go. What about—” 

“What?” Louis challenges. “What about  _ what _ , Harry?” 

He doesn’t have any fucking  _ boxes _ or he’d put some of these dishes in them. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing so he decides to look Harry square in the face to hear his answer.

“What, then?” Louis says, with vindictive intent. “Tell me.” 

Harry actually cowers a little, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his seat. 

“Is it you? Do you want me to stick around for you?” Louis asks. “Did you think we had something here? That I could just keep living my life among ghosts?” 

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but delays a second too long. 

“My life’s not over yet, Harry.” Louis continues. “And I don’t plan on wasting any more of it with you. Not when you’re a waste of space, even in your fucking  _ afterlife _ .” 

“I didn’t touch it, Lou,” Harry says. 

“Don’t  _ lie  _ to me,” Louis snarls. “You’re not fucking better you know? In fact, you’re worse. Because you get it. Or you’re supposed to. You’re supposed to understand what it’s fucking  _ like _ to see what I’ve seen. And you just…” Louis stops, can’t get any air fast enough to continue. He gasps a little, surprised at the ferocity of his fresh wave of tears, his face growing hot. “You’re not  _ human _ , Harry. Humans learn from their mistakes and grow but you’re just stuck. And I don’t need to stay stuck with you.” 

Harry wipes a few tears off his face, “You done?” 

Louis sits on the floor. He does it because he’s tired, and no he isn’t done, but he doesn’t have much fight left in him. 

Harry slides off the chair where he’d been sitting to join Louis on the floor. And Louis wants to be so angry with him. He wants to swing a fist and throw a fit and tell him to fuck off some more, but then he takes a good look at him, biting his lower lip and scooting closer to Louis on the floor, and then Louis just feels sorry. 

Frankie wasn’t a waste of space. She was an addict. She needed help. 

And now, Louis’ been given the chance to help someone else he’s grown to care about and instead he’s... yelling at him. 

Harry stops directly in front of Louis, with his legs folded under himself. He chews on the inside of his cheek and he reaches out for Louis’ hand. Louis doesn’t hesitate to reach back. He grips Harry’s hand as tightly as he can, and feels his eyes burn for maybe the millionth time today, but doesn’t hold back this time. He cries like he did the night before, when he found Harry on the bedroom floor. 

He cries because this time, he gets to say he’s sorry. 

He cries because he loves Harry, and this time, that may be enough. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis says softly, his shoulders shaking as he weeps.

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry, Louis,” Harry whimpers. “I’m so sorry I went in there, and I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

Louis nods, acknowledging his words, though there isn’t much more he can say. 

“I promise you, when I went inside the room,” Harry exhales, squeezing Louis’ hand, “the bag was empty, okay? I didn’t do any of it. But as soon as I saw it, I knew what used to… And I—” 

Harry sniffs, overwhelmed as tears of his own reappear. “It launched me into the last one. That erm, memory.” 

Louis wipes his nose, and nods again, waiting for Harry to continue. 

“I think I started to tell you that I erm… I used to live here.” Harry sighs. “And you may not… like me, after I tell you a few things, okay?” 

“I will,” Louis protests.

“No, you probably won’t,” Harry says with another light squeeze to Louis’ hand. “And that’s okay, alright? You don’t have to. I really fucked up.” 

Louis shakes his head, but doesn’t speak again, waiting for Harry to continue. 

“I found my boyfriend in Frankie’s room. And I… I told you I was pissed, but honestly, I didn’t give a fuck at the time. I had, erm. I had sold him the shit in the first place.” Harry admits, words growing shaky with each new confession. “It’s how we met. It’s how I got by. And I didn’t really… think about it at the time. And that’s why it always felt like he cared more about his high than he did about me because well… I gave it to him. It was, erm,” Harry blinks a few tears back, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard and forces the words out. “It was just the way it was, okay? But it was… my fault. And I was so fucking angry with him because I had to go. I had to leave this place and all my shit because I was going to be arrested otherwise. There was no way people could come in here and not ask questions and not find  _ something _ . And his parents would have just… they would have found him and… things really didn’t look good for me.

“I loved him. I did. But I also knew that he didn’t love me. And even though it was my fault, at the time I was just so angry that I was left to pick up the damn pieces again. It was selfish to be as angry as I was. I’m not…” Harry sniffs, and continues words calculated and slow, “I’m not proud of it at all.” 

Louis listens raptly, but doesn’t find himself shocked at anything Harry’s told him. He knows so little of Harry already that anything could be true. But it’s the gleam of sadness, of regret, that makes Louis believe him without a shadow of a doubt. 

“So, I left. And didn’t live long after that. It wasn’t drugs though it was just stupidity,” Harry rolls his eyes at himself. “I tried to steal a car and drove straight through an intersection on a red light. I got hit on both sides.” 

Louis’ eyes widen as he leans forward, hanging on Harry’s every word. 

“Anyway, it’s a blur after that. I just kept waking up somewhere new for a while, and then I showed up in the house my mum had me in. And it’s been… fucked since.” Harry looks at Louis then with a hesitant grin that doesn’t meet his eyes. “When I got here though… it was different. The other places were mostly empty. I spent the whole time just watching my memories play out in excruciating detail. Then I got here, and I knew  _ exactly _ where I was… but you were here too. So was Frankie.  You were devastated… and I watched. 

“I didn’t get it yet, Lou,” Harry says very quietly. “My memories here were so fucked up, and I had forgotten that like… mourning is important. Here I watched you do exactly that for months and I thought maybe I was being punished for not mourning before. For being an idiot and a fucking murderer I don’t know—” 

“You didn’t kill him, Harry,” Louis interrupts. “You fucked up, yeah. But you didn’t force him into anything, did you?” 

Harry shakes his head, “No, but I made it easy for him. I didn’t put up a fight. I just let him have the problem. I enabled it.”

“Your life can’t always be a consequence of the end of his,” Louis says, echoing something he’d said mostly to himself one night in Harry’s company. 

“No, but my afterlife is,” Harry chuckles darkly. “I told you, Lou. This is supposed to hurt. I deserve it.” 

“Not forever,” Louis shakes his head. “It can’t be forever. Not if you think you’ve… do you get it now?” 

“I think so,” Harry scrunches his nose a little, concentrating on his answer. “I think when you left I’ve never felt more sorry in my life. I don’t know, Lou, I just sat there and I lost it. And it was both because I had managed to hurt you, and because I felt so much that I deserved to be hurt. And seeing it all play back was just… god. It was awful, Lou, I just.” Harry pauses with a shuddering breath. “I didn’t remember what he’d looked like. I didn’t remember how lost he’d been, how lost I was and how much he depended on me, and how incapable of being dependable I was.” 

“What do you get then? Like what’s come of it?” 

“I’m just really fucking sorry,” Harry says with a soft sob. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lou.” 

Harry leans forward and places his face in his hands. Louis reaches for him and shuffles so he can wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders. He squeezes tight and starts crying too. 

“It’s okay,” Louis whispers. “Honestly, it is.” 

Harry shakes his head, but accepts Louis’ embrace, wrapping his hands around the forearm Louis has draped across his chest. 

Louis waits a few minutes, waits until he doesn’t think he has anymore tears to shed. He waits until Harry’s breathing has evened out. 

“Guess what,” Louis whispers. 

“Hm?”

“It’s over now.” Louis says. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, sniffling. 

“I mean, it’s done. And I know you’re sorry. And I forgive you.” Louis says softly, then adds, “But you know that’s not enough.” 

Harry looks up to meet his eyes, and in them Louis sees worlds of sorrow and anguish he can’t even imagine. He presses a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead and says, “We have to forgive ourselves sometime, you know?” 

Harry shuts his eyes and takes in a deep breath, nodding as he exhales. 

“And I’m sorry,” Louis adds. “I’m sorry for what I said. And for pretending to have any idea of what you’ve been through or not.” 

Harry doesn’t answer straight away, but another moment later he says, “I forgive you.” 

Louis takes in the room around them, remembering the dishes sitting on his counter. He still needs boxes. 

“I have to leave,” Louis eventually says. 

Harry agrees, “Yeah, you do.” 

 

___

 

The next few days are fine. Harry helps Louis pack, and Louis helps Harry laugh. They ask each other more questions. They tell each other some of their most embarrassing memories, and they sit close, and enjoy each other.

Louis loses track of time every few hours, and that’s okay. 

He still cries sometimes, when a particular memory catches him by surprise. It’s still hard. It always will be, probably. But every box packed is considered a small victory. Progress. 

Harry is with him the whole time, sometimes with a look, sometimes with a hand, or a kiss. 

It’s early when it happens. Some would consider it to be the middle of the night, but something about the way the air is still, and the way Louis’ mouth tastes, and the closeness he seeks from the one beside him makes Louis positive that it’s early in the morning. 

He’s moving today. He’s afraid, but he’s ready. He spoke to Frankie about it late last night, when Harry was asleep, and Frankie is happy for him. 

Harry’s awake now, though, welcoming the tight hold Louis’ got around his middle. He nuzzles close, and Louis smiles.

Everything feels fine. Content, and settled, and okay. 

“Hey, Lou?” 

Louis hums in reply. 

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” 

“I think so, yeah.” He shuffles a little closer, “I think, you’re here. And if that’s possible, then anything is, innit?” 

Harry sits up a little and Louis is anticipating Harry’s warm lips on his. He relishes it, knowing it won’t be long now. It feels like a goodbye. 

Harry lifts his head, looking Louis square in the eyes. 

“Find me, okay?” 

Louis agrees, and then he’s gone. 

 

___

 

A few hours later, when the last of his boxes are in Liam’s car, he decides to say his goodbyes. Liam doesn’t question him when he dismisses himself for one last thing, and Louis’ grateful for it. 

He sets foot inside his flat, and feels the ghosts. Harry had once said that Frankie wasn’t there anymore, but at that point, Louis didn’t know the truth. And so maybe she can’t hear him, but he wants to say it anyway. 

“I love you, Fran,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you. I’m sorry I didn’t help. But I’m going to be better now. It’s time to be better.” 

He doesn’t know what else to say. So he swallows down the lump in his throat and runs his fingers down the wall of his hallway. 

“Thanks for everything.” 

Louis takes one last look before he walks out, locking the door behind him. 

As he steps outside, he finds the sky is bluer than he remembers and Liam is smiling brighter than he has all morning. 

And Louis doesn’t know much. But he at least knows one thing. 

He’ll be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I hope I didn't leave too many wounds. Just know that if you made it this far, I am giving you the Biggest hug right now. <3 
> 
> Comments and kudos would mean very much a lot to me. You can also reblog the fic post, with some absolutely GORGEOUS art by Kirston (pupperlouis on tumblr), [here](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com/post/166979153401/gracious-goes-the-ghost-of-you-written-by)!  
> Or, come talk to me on [tumblr](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com) if you'd like. :)
> 
> You can find other fics in The Pink Album Challenge from this collection, and reblog the works on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/166620465823/the-pink-album-fic-challenge-coming-soon-posting)!


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